


Do You Want To Be With Somebody Like Me?

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awesome Molly Hooper, BAMF Sebastian Moran, BAMF Sherlock, Bars and Pubs, Confrontations, Death Threats, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, First Time, Fist Fights, Friends to Lovers, Hurt Sherlock, Implied Sexual Content, Jealous Sherlock, Kidnapped Molly, Kidnapping, Knighthood, Molly Volunteers, POV Sherlock Holmes, Pining Sherlock, Pregnant Molly, Repairing Relationships, Sebastian Moran Being Creepy, Sebastian Moran Being an Asshole, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room, Sharing a drink, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Fluff, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Kissing, Sherlock is Not a Virgin, Sherlock is a Good Boyfriend, Sherlock-centric, Threats, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-05 23:29:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 41,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4199151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarty's return has only granted Sherlock a temporary reprieve from punishment over his actions regarding Magnussen, and when a mission involving Sebastian Moran crosses Mycroft's desk it seems to be the perfect way for Sherlock to pay his penance. This particular mission requires Sherlock to have a paramour, however, but Mycroft has that taken care of in the form of Molly. What begins as a ruse to fool Moran slowly becomes something more real, though, and as this mission takes Sherlock and Molly across the globe chasing after a ghost he begins to realize that there is much more that he can lose this time if he makes another wrong decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bakerst_sherlolly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakerst_sherlolly/gifts), [Amberowl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amberowl/gifts).



> So I got a few prompts from **bakerst_sherlolly** to write to for cheer up fic and one thing that was requested was fake relationship fic, which I adore writing. It won't be 100% fluffy but there will be loads of fluffy bits when it's just them. So far it's rated for everyone but this might change. Title comes from "Lonely Hearts Club" by Marina and the Diamonds.

“It's a matter of national security,” Mycroft said, looking at his brother. “And seeing as how Moriarty's reappearance has earned you only a _temporary_ reprieve from the repercussions of your actions regarding Magnussen, I would suggest you accept this request and do as Her Majesty commands.” He folded his hands on his desk. “It is the only way I can think of for you to sufficiently make up for the problems you caused on Christmas Day, and then, when this business with Moriarty is all over, the government will consider your punishment fulfilled.”

Sherlock didn't look up at his brother, instead flipping through the rather thick file he had been handed upon entering the office. Apparently Moriarty's right hand man had not actually _stayed_ in custody after the incident with the bomb on the train, and now he was in the wind. The fact that no one was entirely sure whether Moriarty's video message was the truth or an elaborate hoax meant that the disappearance of Sebastian Moran had to be taken very seriously. He flipped by one page and then paused, flipping back to it and reading it again. “There is no woman on the face of the earth who will agree to help me with this,” he said, snapping the file shut and looking up at his brother with wide eyes.

“There is one,” Mycroft countered. “And you know damn well she would do anything you asked of her. I honestly think she would willingly give up her life for you if it would ensure you took another breath.”

“She might have, before....everything,” Sherlock said, setting the file on Mycroft's desk with a heavy thud. “Of course, I didn't have the decency to inform her of my ploy with Janine, nor did I make it a point to say good-bye to her when she clearly wished not to speak to me.”

“The first is your folly, dear brother, but the second isn't quite what you think,” Mycroft said. “When the plane was in the air I was going to call to inform you there was a letter on board, from Ms. Hooper to you.” Mycroft removed his hands from the top of his desk and opened a drawer, pulling out an envelope. He handed it to Sherlock. “I'm honestly surprised she's made no attempt to find out if you've read it. But she can ask you herself in a few hours, I suppose.”

Sherlock looked at him, slightly wide eyed. “She already knows about all this?” he asked as he took the envelope.

“Anthea has taken her out to update her wardrobe, to make it easier to blend in with the crowd that you will be a part of in the course of this mission,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Anthea can brief her on what her role is to be as well as I can, so I'm leaving that to her. There won't be false identities for you to worry about, though admittedly before you leave there will need to be interviews with the tabloids to elaborate on what Ms. Hawkins has told the press. Utter lies, of course.”

“Of course,” Sherlock murmured, trying to remain impassive at the dig against him. He knew his brother was still convinced he was a virgin, and even if in this case he was right, that everything Janine had said was a lie, they didn't need to get into this well trod argument. “How does Molly fit in, exactly?”

“She's your new paramour,” Mycroft said. “Whatever reason you two want to agree upon will be up to you, but before you leave the country you need to be seen together, and often. And no baiting the paparazzi; we want them to take as many photos of you and Ms. Hooper as they can. The more obvious it is the two of you are in a romantic entanglement, the better.

“I suppose using each other as rebound relationships would be sufficient,” Sherlock said. “Building on the idea that friendship blossomed into something more than friendship. Is Molly aware that there is a physical aspect to all of this?”

Mycroft nodded. “She was made aware of that and she agreed regardless. She did have a few stipulations. Until you leave the country you are to reside in your own residences. If, for appearances sake, you are to stay the night at her flat or she is to stay at Baker Street, she gets the bed and you are on the sofa. If you touch her behind closed doors she is allowed the opportunity to castrate you when this is all over.”

Sherlock's eyes widened. Did she honestly think he was going to pursue anything with her when they were away from prying eyes? He'd kiss her in public, be close to her, but when they were in private he'd keep a whole bloody room between them if it made her happy. He knew he had played a huge part in the failure of her engagement, that there had been jealousy on Tom's end about the type of relationship that she had with him, and he didn't blame her for wanting to keep distance between them. He would respect that, obviously, but the last stipulation seemed extreme. “She really threatened to castrate me?” he asked incredulously.

Mycroft nodded. “I honestly think she's decided to go back to an earlier piece of advice you gave her and avoid dating. That includes dating you as well, apparently. She's going to avoid any and all actual romantic entanglements. This is playacting, as far as she's concerned.”

He cringed just slightly at hat. He'd been flippant and rather cruel when he'd made that remark to her at St. Bart's all that time ago. He felt differently now. She deserved to be happy, to be in love with someone who loved her back completely and didn't want to change her in any way. She deserved a relationship where she was a true and equal partner in it, not simply someone's other half. And if she was going to give up on ever having that because of him then that might honestly be one of the worst things he was responsible for. “I'm going to make her change her mind,” he said.

“And have her begin an actual relationship with you?” Mycroft asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sherlock shot him a glare. “ _No_ ,” he said. “When this is all over I'll convince her to find someone suitable who treats her with love and respect and doesn't expect her to change.”

“You mean someone who will accept you are still a part of her life after this mission is over,” Mycroft said.

“Well, yes,” he said. “But also everything else. She deserves to be happier than she is. She deserves it more than I do, at the very least.”

Mycroft nodded. “Don't let your genuine affection for her cloud things,” he said. “You need to be logical and make decisions based on the best interest of the British government, not on your own best interest and not on what would make her happiest.”

Sherlock nodded, picking the file back up again. He absorbed the information as he read it, but after a bit his mind began to wander. He'd never been romantically interested in any woman. The closest he might have come was Irene Adler, if fascination somehow translated into attraction, which he wasn't sure it did in that case. It had never been anything of any importance to him, really. He could fake interest well enough. He'd had to to fool Janine. But he was worried that faking interest with Molly would cause further harm to their friendship, if it wasn't already damaged beyond repair. He lowered the file onto his lap and fingered the envelope Mycroft had given him. He should read the letter, see what she had to say, but he supposed he could simply ask her when he saw her face to face. Deciding that, he tucked the envelope into his suit jacket pocket and then continued to read the file.

Mycroft pulled him away from the file an hour later to give an interview with The Sun. It was a typical sensationalized interview, in that they wanted dirt on his habits, his life, who he was dating, if the rumors swirling about him were true. He knew he'd have to do a few more interviews, drop a few tidbits to whet people's appetites to learn more and collect the sizable paychecks his brother was garnering to supposedly put Sherlock in the lap of luxury he needed for the plot to work. He wasn't actually getting to keep a cent of it; Molly was getting a large sum of money for the potential damage this could do to her reputation, and the rest was being put towards the expenses this operation was going to incur. He would get a small stipend, obviously, but as this was his penance he supposed he was lucky enough to get even that.

When the interview was over he was led back to Mycroft's study, only this time there were more people there. Anthea was standing nearby, using her mobile, and Molly was sitting in the seat next to where he had been sitting. He stared slightly when he saw her. She looked very different. First off, her hair was a vibrant shade of red now, and it was sleek as opposed to wavy like it was when it was down. It was also quite a few inches shorter, ending just above her shoulders now. She was in a strapless dress that was a dark navy blue silk in the bodice and skirt with multicolored flowers on it and red mesh across the chest area, covering her cleavage and chest and shoulders. He thought there was a navy blue velvet ribbon around her waist as well. “You have reservations at Bar Boulud,” Mycroft said, motioning for Molly to stand up. “My driver will take you there and wait for you to finish your meal. Then he will take Ms. Hooper home and bring you back here so you can continue to go over the particulars, Sherlock.”

Sherlock nodded. “Very well.” Mycroft reached for a packet on his desk. He opened it and reached inside before pulling out three credit cards. Sherlock looked at them and saw they were the type with nearly unlimited credit limits. “No one is going to believe I'm worth this much money, Mycroft.”

“They will when word of our great-aunt's passing comes to light,” Mycroft said. “Especially with the news of the inheritance she left you. As far as the world is concerned, you will be worth quite a bit of money, which is exactly what we need them to think.” Then he turned to Molly. “As a balm for the inconvenience, please feel free to have Sherlock spend money on you using those cards. When this is over, you may keep whatever he buys you.”

“Thank you,” Molly said with a nod. Then she turned to Sherlock. “I suppose we should go eat, don't you?”

He nodded, putting the credit cards in his wallet. “I'll see you shortly, Mycroft,” he said.

“Take all the time you want,” he replied. “I don't plan on sleeping until quite late.”

Sherlock motioned for Molly to move ahead of him and she did, moving through the room with her head held high. There was a confidence in her step that wasn't usually there. “You seem different,” he said as they left Mycroft's study.

“I'm surprised you noticed,” she said quietly. “Though I suppose you do take notice in certain things.”

“I meant the confidence in which you're moving but yes, I noticed the new hairstyle and the new color as well,” he said. He walked more quickly than she did and stepped in front of her, effectively stopping her in her tracks. “If we're to fool everyone into thinking we're in some sort of romantic entanglement we have to at least act like we like each other, Molly. We do still like each other, don't we? Or did I ruin that?”

She looked at him for a long moment and then sighed before looking down. “No, Sherlock. You didn't ruin it. I suppose you had your reasons for doing what you did with _her_ and that awful man. But couldn't you have at least told me about her before I had to find out from the tabloids? I thought...I thought we were friends.”

“I didn't tell anyone,” he said. “John didn't know until the day I got shot. Mary may have known beforehand, but that was only if Janine let something slip. I wanted as few people to know as possible because I had no intention of actually marrying her. I wasn't actually interested in her in that way.”

She looked up at him. “But she said...” she began, trailing off.

“She lied, in order to get the best price for the story of being Sherlock Holmes's significant other,” he said. “The only thing that happened was we kissed and she stayed at my flat a few times and we shared a bed. I'm not interested in any of those activities and I think she knew that so she didn't push for it, but it doesn't make for a compelling story, so she gave it some embellishments. It worked out well in the long run, though, as it will be an excellent source of material for this mission we're currently on.”

“So you don't like kissing or physical intimacy but you're willing to do it anyway for the sake of this mission your brother has us on,” Molly said slowly.

He nodded. “I doubt I will mind being close to you, Molly. I _have_ already kissed you a few times, after all, even if it was just on the cheek.”

She gave him a small smile. "Well, now that I know about your aversion to physical intimacy I feel even more appreciated.”

He gave her a serious look. “Molly, I feel more towards you than just appreciation. You are one of my closest friends. I care about you quite a bit.”

She gave him a warm smile. “I know. I just...I was hurt, and I may have pushed you away, but I've known that.”

“Good,” he said, giving her a small smile of his own. “So. Are we ready to put on a performance?”

She nodded, offering him her hand. After a moment he took it and she threaded her fingers between his. “Break a leg, Sherlock.”

“You too,” he said before he turned and they began to make their way out of Mycroft's home. At least now the air was clear between them, he thought to himself. This was a good start to all of this. Hopefully it would stay clear and this entire situation would not get overly complicated before it was finished.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been nearly two weeks since his initial interview and his and Molly’s first “date,” and he was preparing for another extravagant evening out. Molly was absolutely delighted to go to four and five star restaurants and see hard to get into plays and cultural events, and while normally these things would not interest him much her enthusiasm was rubbing off on him. Tonight was supposed to be a trip to an art exhibit featuring previously undiscovered works by some artist Molly admired. He had talked Mycroft into issuing Molly a card linked to one of his in her own name so she could use it to purchase outfits for these events and things that caught her fancy, since Mycroft said she was allowed to keep what he bought her, and he had gotten an alert that she had used it yesterday at an exclusive boutique. He was interested to see just what she had bought because the cost had been a bit on the extravagant side.

His mobile began to ring and he picked it up, frowning when he saw it was Molly. “I’m not late,” he said by way of an answer.

“You don’t have to bother,” she said, and it sounded as though she was congested. “I’ve felt rotten all day but now I’m coughing and I have a horrible headache.”

“You’re under the weather?” he asked.

“Yes. Stupid cold.” She coughed, a rather hacking cough at the sounds of it. “And I wanted to go to this, too. Degas is one of my absolute favorites.”

He was quiet for a moment. “With the money and influence I’m supposed to wield now, perhaps I can arrange a private viewing later,” he said.

“Oh, that would be lovely,” she said gratefully. “Maybe in a few days.”

“I’ll see what I can do, then.” He paused for a moment. “Would you like company regardless?”

“I’m no fun when I’m sick, Sherlock. All I want to do is stay huddled under blankets and have my chicken soup and watch reruns of Midsomer Murders on the telly. You don’t have to be there for that.”

“Do you have the soup?” he asked.

“No,” she said.

“Then I’ll bring you some. And don’t argue. If I stay here I’ll just be bored and I’ll resort to doing some sort of science experiment that will probably aggravate Mrs. Hudson.”

She giggled slightly. “Fine. If you insist. And it doesn’t need to be chicken soup. Any soup at all will do, really.”

“But chicken noodle soup is supposedly best,” he said.

“Still, the fact you’ll bring me hot soup is good enough. So just come over when you can. I’ll be at home piled under blankets.”

“I’ll be there soon,” he said before hanging up. He had some leftover homemade ham and bean soup that Mrs. Hudson had made in his refrigerator, but it wasn’t warm. He would take it, but perhaps he should take a variety as well. There was an area near Molly’s flat that had a Tesco and a Japanese and Chinese restaurant. He should be able to get everything he needed between the three places.

He changed out of the outfit he’d planned to wear to the gala into one of his regular suits and then left his flat, hailing a cab outside his home. The paparazzi snapped pictures, as they were wont to do anytime he left Baker Street, but he gave them no details, simply saying he was going out. He enjoyed the relative peace and quiet of the cab ride, having it wait while he placed his orders for miso soup at the Japanese restaurant and egg drop soup at the Chinese restaurant and dashing into the store and getting some soup off the shelves. When he was done he got back into the cab for the short trip to Molly’s flat. He paid the driver, got his purchases together and then made his way to her home, knocking on the door as best he could.

She answered it a few minutes later, blanket around her shoulders like a cloak. Her nose was red, as were her eyes, and her hair looked as though she’d had the blanket pulled up over her head to keep the warmth in. “I definitely think not leaving your home tonight was a good idea,” he said.

“I look absolutely wretched, don’t I?” she said with a sigh as she got out of the way so he could come in.

“Honest truth or social lie?” he asked, stepping inside.

“Honest truth.”

“Yes,” he said. “But it’s nothing that won’t clear up once this illness passes, and then you’ll be back to your usual self.”

She shook her head as she shut the door behind him. “At least I got a compliment to boot.” She gestured to the bags. “How much soup did you get me?”

“Quite a bit. There’s hot miso and egg drop soup, cold but still relatively fresh soup from Tesco, and then ham and bean soup that Mrs. Hudson made to encourage me to eat.” He began unpacking the soups from Tesco. “New England In Autumn, San Antonio Fiesta, Thai Tuk Tuks And Turmeric, Sicily Tom And Balsamic, all of which are from Glorious! There’s also potato and leek soup from New Covent Garden a few selections of Tesco’s soup in a mug with any type of chicken soup I could find.”

She smiled widely at him as she joined him in the kitchen. “I can’t possibly eat all of this.”

“It’s meant to last until you get better,” he said. He then pulled out the order he’d placed for him at the Chinese food restaurant. “And since it’s not fair for you to eat and me to starve, I got myself beef and broccoli. I also thought I might be able to tempt you with some wontons so I got two orders worth of those.”

“Sherlock, honestly, you’re too good to me,” she said. “Thank you.”

“I just thought since I’m supposed to be your boyfriend it would be amiss if I didn’t take care of you,” he said.

“And you are lying through your teeth,” she said. “It’s all right to admit you’re actually fond of me. No one has to know there’s no actual basis to our intimate relationship other than a rather strong friendship.”

He grinned ever so slightly. “I suppose I can admit I care about you and your well being,” he said, though he knew he was just teasing her. In truth he cared a great deal, as she was one of the few people in the world he would consider a friend.

“It must have absolutely pained you to admit that,” she said with a laugh, moving away from him to sit back on her sofa. “I’ll take some of the miso now. That doesn’t taste good cold.” She hadn’t changed things much from when he’d used her flat as a bolt hole so he found her plates and bowls easily enough, as well as her silverware, and he soon had their meals served up. He carried hers out to her first and then took his, sitting near her but not too close on the sofa. “Did you tell the photographers that are camped out in front of your home you were off to take care of me tonight?”

“No,” he said, spearing a piece of beef.

“Pity. It would have gotten some excellent coverage in the tabloids,” she said.

“I could always have Mrs. Hudson drop them a hint,” he said thoughtfully before adding a piece of broccoli to his fork.

“I’d do it,” she said before eating a spoonful of soup. “But you’ll have to stay here tonight for it to be newsworthy, really. Sherlock Holmes spends the night at his girlfriend’s flat. What sorts of things did they get up to?”

“They’ll be imagining passionate lovemaking while in reality…” he began.

“It will be set fourteen of Midsomer Murders while I eat soup and you have Chinese, and I’ll probably fall asleep on the sofa in the middle of an episode you’ll find incredibly easy to solve and you’ll have to carry me off to bed before you eventually retire to the guest bedroom,” she said with a smile.

“It’s good to know I got upgraded from the sofa,” he said before eating his food.

“Well, I was still hurt when Mycroft asked me to play the part of your paramour,” she said with a small smile. “But if you have to stay over I’ll be nice and let you have the guest bedroom. Don’t attempt to talk your way into having us swap rooms, though, or you will indeed find yourself on the sofa.”

He grinned back and then swallowed his food. “I suppose there are worse things than your guest bedroom.”

“I can think of quite a few,” she said. “But I bet you can too.”

“Unfortunately.” They ate in silence for a little while. This was actually rather nice, he thought to himself. He’d enjoyed quiet moments with Molly in the past, and it was nice that even though they had to fawn over each other in public it didn’t affect their friendship, in that there was still a sense of ease between them. He felt comfortable with her, and he hoped that when the public circumstances behind their relationship changed and the level of physical intimacy increased things did not grow strange. He did not want to lose his closeness with Molly. When she was done with her soup he looked over. “Would you like some wontons now?”

“Yes please. And the egg drop soup?” she asked.

He nodded. “All right. And then I’ll put on the DVD. Is there a specific episode you would like me to start with?”

She picked up the DVD case from her table. “Hmm. I always enjoyed ‘Picture of Innocence.’ We can start with that.”

“What episode is that?”

“The second one,” she said. 

“Then you relax and I’ll take care of you,” he said, standing up and reaching for her empty bowl. She gave him a warm smile and he gave her one back. If nothing else he did care about her, regardless of the state of their fictional relationship, and if he could make things easier for her while she was ill then he would because he knew she would do the same for him. That thought actually warmed his heart, even if he didn’t want to admit it, and if she was able to do that for him he would do whatever he could for her.


	3. Chapter 3

“I have a surprise for you.”

Sherlock looked up from his microscope and saw Molly standing at the door of his lab, her hands behind her back. Her illness had passed, and the notoriety that had come from him spending the night had been worth its weight in gold, according to his brother. Mycroft had insisted that at least one night a week he stay with her or she stay with him from now on, as it was expected. Tonight they were supposed to go out to dinner at Le Gavroche and then retire to Baker Street, but from the look on her face he got the feeling plans were going to change. “I’m hoping I like this surprise.”

“It will take us to Middlesex, but do you remember how you were interested in hearing Luc Brunsveld speak about supramolecular chemical biology but you were pretending to be dead?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes. I ended up watching it on the internet. It was a very dynamic lecture.”

“Well, he’s giving another lecture at NPL and my colleague managed to get us two seats to attend. I thought you might enjoy that more than another boring evening with dinner and just me for company,” she said as she pulled her hands from behind her back and he could see she was holding up two passes. “Plus he wants to meet you.”

Sherlock blinked. It was unusual that people that he admired wanted to meet _him_ , but then there were few people that he actually admired. “I think it would be a superb way to spend the evening,” he said. “But you are wrong about one point.”

“Oh?” she asked.

“An evening with you for company is usually not boring,” he said, going back to his microscope. “Unless you’re ill. And then it’s only boring when you fall asleep before I’ve told you who was framing Inspector Barnaby.”

He didn’t see her reaction, but moments later she came up and kissed his cheek softly. “It starts at six sharp,” she said quietly before pulling away. “You get to arrange transportation.” He looked up then to see her wearing a warm smile. “I’ve got to figure out something comfortable to wear.”

“Are you going to have time to change before we have to go?” he asked as she headed towards the door.

She chuckled. “John was right. You _are_ wrapped up in this case quite a bit. You must have forgotten that it’s my day off. I only knew you were here because I called your mobile four times and it went straight to voicemail so I called John and asked if he knew where you were and he told me about the case, since you didn’t talk to me yesterday.”

He frowned. “I could have sworn that was tomorrow. I had made plans.”

“Nope, it’s today,” she said as she got to the door. She paused there, though. “Out of curiosity, what were your plans?”

“I had thought perhaps you’d like to go to the National Gallery for the day, since I wasn’t able to arrange a viewing of the Degas exhibit for you” he said. “And then perhaps just spending some time walking around being seen.”

“That sounds tempting,” she said, biting her lip. “I was going to spend the day taking care of things I needed to, dropping off parcels to mail out to family at the post, maybe having coffee with Mary later and then grabbing a bite to eat somewhere off the beaten path after a little shopping.”

“Oh,” he said quietly. She was allowed to make plans without him, of course. He had meant his own plans as a surprise, but just because he’d thought it would be something she’d enjoy didn’t mean she’d drop everything to do it.

“How close are you to solving this case?” she asked.

“As soon as I finish looking at these samples I should have my proof,” he said.

“And I’m distracting you,” she said, her eyes wide. “You know, forget I was going to suggest something. I’ll just…I’ll just go.”

“Molly, wait,” he said as she opened the door to leave. She stopped and turned to look at him. “Give me two hours. I can trust Lestrade not to muck up the interrogation, not that he’ll actually need it. In two hours you can offer up your suggestion or we can try and go with my plans. Whatever you would like to do today. Will two hours be enough time to run your errands?”

She nodded. “It should be, though the parcels might have to wait for another day. If I leave from here to take care of things it will be quicker. Should I come back here to meet you?”

“I’ll call you with a location to meet me,” he said as he shook his head. “Chances are I will be at Scotland Yard by the time I can leave.”

“All right,” she said. “I’ll keep hold of these tickets and we can spend the day together before we have to leave to go to the lecture. See you soon.” She gave him a small wave and then opened the door and left.

He stared at the door for a long moment. He had wanted to make the trip to the gallery a grand gesture. Yes, he wanted to be seen, wanted them to be seen together, acting like the couple they were posing as, but he had wanted it to be a grand gesture because when he made one she was happy. He had had enough of seeing Molly look sad; she had once remarked he looked sad when John couldn’t see it, but he knew know that she looked sad when she thought he couldn’t see. But he observed her closely and he saw it more often than he would like. He liked bringing a smile to her face, the one that brought a sparkle to her eyes and lit up her entire countenance. It made him feel better to see her happy and know he had done it.

He pondered that for a moment. He didn’t fancy her; this wasn’t a sign he wanted to start an _actual_ romantic relationship with her. That would be far too complicated and messy, and when it ended, as it inevitably would, he would no longer have her in his life and he refused to put himself in a position where that was a possibility. There was something about her that he needed to be around because it made him strive to be better, be more human and more likeable, and he worried if she wasn’t there he’d go back to how he had been all those years ago before John. No, it was best to keep her friendship close but keep his heart under firm lock and key.

He went back to the slides and after nearly forty minutes found his match. He pulled his mobile out and was already dialing Lestrade as he headed out the door. The sooner they got this taken care of the sooner he could go spend time with Molly and perhaps have a better evening than had been planned for them. His phone began to ring before he finished dialing and he stopped, looking at the caller and sighing as he saw it was his brother. “Yes?” he asked.

“Moran is on the move,” Mycroft said.

Sherlock stilled. “Do I need to go after him right now?” he asked.

“No, but soon. You will have less time to convince people that you intend to sweep Ms. Hooper off her feet, which means I have less time to make the arrangements for her sabbatical while the two of you globe trot to follow him. Our intelligence operative says he is in Scotland now, and so as long as he stays there for a time there is leniency in the plan, but if he leaves…”

“If he leaves, we follow,” Sherlock said.

“Yes. Make sure Ms. Hooper is ready to leave at a moment’s notice.”

“I’ll try my best,” he said before hanging up on his brother. He looked at his mobile and then called Molly. She picked up after three rings and he spoke before she said anything. “Moran’s left England.”

“Oh. I thought we had more time,” she said.

“I know. It appears as though we may not, though. We may need to put the plan into action much sooner than anticipated.”

“Well, then we’ll just need to be _very_ affectionate today,” she said. “You’re going to have to kiss me in public, Sherlock, multiple times. Or I’m going to have to kiss you. And I mean rather lengthy ones.”

He was quiet. He didn’t mind the idea of that, of having intimate moments like that with Molly, but he’d hoped he’d have more time to get used to them. But, then again, the press had been speculating they were shagging so he probably would have had to start doing it today anyway. “Very well,” he said.

“If it makes you feel better, you can just imagine I’m someone more suited to your taste, whatever that is,” she said.

“I don’t have a specific taste,” he said.

“Hmm. Well, then I hope you’re a good actor.”

“Who will you be thinking about when you kiss me?” he asked curiously.

There was a pause on her end. “I won’t be thinking about anyone other than you, I suppose,” she said. “But unlike the fantasies I had in my head for so long, I know there’s nothing behind these kisses. We’re just acting out roles. So it will be nice, but it won’t mean anything.”

“I see,” he murmured. “I suppose I can look at them the same way, then.”

“Well, hopefully it won’t interfere with our plans for tonight. I think the lecture will be very interesting, even if it isn’t my field of study.”

“I don’t care if Moran decides to take a jet to Tokyo at six, I’m going to the lecture,” he said stubbornly, eliciting a soft chuckle on her end. He smiled slightly at that. “I need to call Lestrade. I should be able to get him the evidence to catch his killer.”

“Well, good luck, then,” she said. “I’ll see you in a bit.” She hung up the phone and he lowered it, pausing for a moment before dialing Lestrade. _Now_ things had the potential to get complicated, and he sincerely hoped they didn’t.


	4. Chapter 4

He had to admit, there were differences between kissing Janine and kissing Molly. Very distinct differences, which was surprising given the similarities in the situations leading to the kisses. He was pretending to be infatuated with the women in both relationships, though one was kept very private and the other was being flaunted very publicly. There was genuine affection for both women, though the degrees differed in that he was vastly fonder of Molly than he had been of Janine. And there was no disputing that both women were attractive, albeit in different ways. So there were quite a few similarities.

Janine had been very forward. She initiated most of the physical contact and nearly all of the instances of kissing. She determined all the aspects of a kiss, from depth to length to position they were in. Kissing happened when she wanted it to happen. Mostly. Molly was much more passive about kissing, but also much more open to compromise. Sometimes she would initiate a kiss, sometimes he would. It seemed she would gauge it on who was around and who was paying attention and what was appropriate for the situation. And, sometimes, he suspected she just simply wanted a very quick kiss.

But the biggest difference, he had found, was his reactions to the two women. He’d had to force himself to kiss Janine, and had viewed it with distaste. It was a chore and one he had was quite thankful for when it ended. As soon as he could get away from her he would, putting space and distance between them. While he was not exactly _eager_ to kiss Molly, it wasn’t exactly a chore, either. 

No, that was a lie. An outright lie.

He didn’t mind staying close to her, or letting her hold his hand a moment longer or give him an extra kiss on the cheek as well. He found he didn’t mind any of that all that much. And, not often but sometimes, he would get an urge to reach over for her or press a kiss in her hair or grasp her hand not because it made for a good photo opportunity but because he _wanted_ to.

Damn it, he was actually enjoying this fake relationship. He was enjoying the excuses to be close to Molly. He was enjoying the small acts of physical intimacy. He was enjoying the excuses for dates. He was enjoying being seen in public with Molly. He was enjoying her company.

He was enjoying acknowledging Molly as his girlfriend.

This _had to stop_.

He paced in front of Mycroft’s desk. “There has to be some other woman who can pull this off,” he said.

“I don’t see any problem with Miss Hooper’s performance at all,” Mycroft said, the barest hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips. Oh, he wanted to smack that smirk off his brother’s lips. He knew it was just going to become more prominent the more his brother spoke. “She’s doing an excellent job of portraying adequate interest in you. And you, in turn, appear _quite_ interested in her.” He tossed down the tabloid he’d been looking at. Sherlock looked at the picture of him and Molly at Hyde Park, kissing in full view of everyone. That had actually been an achingly exquisite kiss, one that he had initiated, if he remembered correctly. And not because he had seen the photographer lurking, either.

“It’s all an act,” Sherlock said. 

“You may keep telling yourself that,” Mycroft said, the smirk getting more noticeable. “I believe it might be on her end but you, dear brother, are beginning to feel the stirrings of attraction towards her.”

Sherlock glared at his brother. “Find someone else. Anyone else. For fuck’s sake, spare Anthea for this.”

Mycroft kept an amused countenance but the amusement was gone from his eyes, Sherlock noticed. This was definitely an interesting development. Clearly he had plans for his assistant of a personal nature. “That is simply not an option,” he said. “You will have to make do with Miss Hooper and be better at compartmentalizing your errant emotions from the job that needs to be done.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and then huffed as he turned and left his brother’s office. He needed time and space to clear his head. He needed time to think and a place to do it where he had peace and quiet. But the problem with going to his mind palace was that Molly was a permanent resident there. Prior to all of this she had represented cold hard logic. He trusted her to keep him alive, to keep him in check; after all, she had helped save him when Mary shot him. But now, lately, he trusted her with more than that, and so she’d made herself at home there, keeping guard over the area where he held his emotions locked up in drawers. His heart, he realized. She’d made it nice and cozy and hers, and now he couldn’t seem to separate the two.

With a sigh he decided to walk. He would just walk aimlessly through London and see where he ended up. Of course it wouldn’t be entirely aimlessly; he always had some level of vigilance wherever he was, some level of hyper observational skills whirring about and taking everything in. But for now he would try and temper that down and see if he could just observe with analyzing. He made his way out of the fortress Mycroft called a home and began to walk. He walked down streets, through alleys, to Underground stations and onto trains. He wandered through London and almost without realizing it found himself outside St. Bart’s. He knew today was Molly’s day off, that she was spending time with Meena and the other friends she ignored to be with him so of course she wouldn’t be there, but the fact his wanderings took him to her second home had to mean something.

After a moment of debating whether to go inside and go to his lab to work on some project or another he hailed a cab instead, going to Baker Street. It wasn’t too late now, only six, but he supposed he should get home and assure Mrs. Hudson that yes, he would eat a proper meal and then order something and actually eat it. It might not hurt to add more to the composition he was trying to write, the piece that seemed perfect in his dreams but only existed in bits and pieces in his waking hours. There were things he could actually _do_ other than roam around London and think about Molly.

He arrived at his home not long afterward to see the photographers even more excited than usual. He brushed past them and made his way inside and up to the sitting room, where he saw Molly sitting in his chair, looking at a case file. She had on a very low cut dress that was fitted at the waist with a loose skirt, with very thin straps. It was white with large blue and purple flowers on it all over the dress. No wonder the photographers were excited; they must have thought they were going somewhere special. “I thought you were out with your friends,” he said.

She started slightly, and then looked up at him. “They all thought you would be there as well so they brought their boyfriends. I felt very lonely so I excused myself and came here to see if you wanted some company. You weren’t here but Mrs. Hudson thought you might be back soon so I thought I’d wait for a bit.”

“The tabloids will probably say we’re having all sorts of problems, if you’ve been waiting here a while,” he replied.

“I’ve only been here about twenty minutes, I think,” she said with a smile. “But if you want to be alone tonight I understand. I can always go to John’s old room and give you some space and Mycroft can have me spending the night twice this week.”

“That might give him ideas,” he said, giving her a ghost of a smile.

“Well, Moran has been in Scotland for the last three weeks, and we’ve been doing the overnight ruse once a week for five weeks now,” she said. “It probably wouldn’t hurt to kick it up a notch or two in case he leaves suddenly. Then when you whisk me away on a grand worldwide trip it won’t look so strange.”

“I just wish we could find out what he was doing,” Sherlock said.

“Why don’t we?” Molly asked, tilting her head. “There’s a conference taking place in Scotland this weekend. It's in Edinburgh, which isn't too far from where your brother said Moran was, was it?"

Sherlock nodded. "He's in Dalkeith," he said.

"Well, I had been asked to go but I had said I wasn’t sure. I don’t think it’s too late for me to change my mind. It’s Thursday through Sunday. You can go with me and while I go to the conference you can go find out what you can about Moran and then you’ll be better informed.” She gave him a smile. "Does that sound like a good idea to you?"

“I could kiss you,” he said, giving her a grin.

“Well, we’re not in public so you don’t have to,” she said with a chuckle. “But if you think it will help, I’ll make the arrangements.”

“At least let me take you out tonight, if you’d like to go somewhere,” he said. “You look very nice and you should get to show off.”

She blushed slightly. “I suppose it won’t hurt. Let me call Stamford and tell him I want to go after all, and then we can leave and go somewhere, all right?”

He nodded, and with that she pulled out her mobile. He watched her, mentally berating himself for saying he wanted to kiss her instead of just _doing_ it. Of course, if he had kissed her now it probably would not have been well received, and that would have led to awkwardness between them, and that absolutely could not happen for the plan to succeed. So perhaps it was just as well, he decided in the end. Perhaps it was best if he kept his realization that he was actually attracted to Molly a secret, because he did not want to think about the consequences if they failed in this mission.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock had decided since he had nearly unlimited funds at his disposal and he had an image to maintain he would get the best of the best for this trip, and so he booked the George Suite at the G&V Royal Mile Hotel Edinburgh for their stay. He sincerely doubted Molly had had the chance to stay in a place as nice before, and he felt it would be a treat to her. He was rewarded with a wide eyed and shocked expression on her face when he opened the door to their suite Wednesday afternoon. “Sherlock…” she said quietly. “This is spectacular.”

“I thought you deserved something luxurious,” he said with a small grin. “That and almost everything else was booked already.” He came in behind her and shut the door. “There are quite a few amenities with this room, though as I said, one of the drawbacks is that unfortunately we’ll have to share a bed.”

“What are some of the amenities?” she asked, looking around.

"There is a minibar, with high quality wine, which I know you'll approve of, though we already get a complimentary bottle of Prosecco," he said. "Breakfast is included, and here in the room there's mineral water, Nespresso coffee and tea. There is an iPod docking stations and they have iPads on loan, plus we also get premium movies for entertainment and there's high speed internet throughout the hotel. And then there are the amenities in the washroom."

Molly looked interested in that. "Such as?"

"I've been told there's a generous bathtub, a walk-in rain shower and luxurious bathrobes and slippers are provided," he said with a wider grin.

"Oh, I may not want to go back to London," she said softly.

"Well, if he leads us on a chase across the globe, for the most part we'll be staying in luxurious surroundings," he said. "He's supposed to be coming across as a man of fine wealth and distinguished taste who wants others such as himself in his circle of friends, especially those of notoriety and public importance, and seeing as how I'm well known the world over I'm a good draw."

"How will he know you're here, though?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

“I’ll make myself known to him. He may be in Dalkeith but it’s a small town. There’s more to his tastes here in Edinburgh.” He put his luggage on the bed. “And besides, I’ve studied him. I know him well, even if he’s using a fake identity. Most people don’t realize he’s Sebastian Moran and that he’s a dangerous criminal. He knows I know the truth and he’ll want to keep me nice and close, once he realizes I’m here.”

Molly moved over to him. “Just be careful, all right?” she said, placing a hand on his arm.

He nodded. “I will be.” He was quiet for a moment. “I thought, before we had dinner at the hotel restaurant, you might enjoy a treatment at the spa. There is a reservation for you there. You don’t have to go, but there’s time for you to have the treatment and then explore the city a bit before our dinner reservations at seven.”

She smiled widely at him. “A spa treatment? That’s a very nice gift, Sherlock.”

“I thought you might enjoy it,” he said.

She leaned over and kissed his cheek softly. “Somehow I’ll find a way to repay you for all of this. I mean, I know none of this is real, our relationship or the dates or any of it, but…you’ve done a very good job of making me quite happy. And I want to thank you for that.”

His smile faltered just slightly for a moment. Damn it all, he wanted this to be real. He wanted _her_ to want it to be real. But he supposed that was just his luck. “When this is all over just remain my friend,” he said finally. “Don’t leave me alone.”

“I won’t.” She looked over at her luggage. “I suppose I should put that away.”

“It can keep,” he replied. “Go have the spa treatment and relax.”

“All right,” she said. “I may even go buy something nice to wear tonight.”

“I look forward to seeing it,” he said when she went to go get her handbag. She gave him a wave and then left the suite, leaving him alone. He put his hands on his luggage and hung his head. Damn it all. It was going to be utter hell having to share such an intimate space with her for four nights, to have to sleep in the same bed. It was going to drive him mad. _Why_ had he had to go and develop an attraction towards her? Why couldn’t they have simply remained friends? It was much simpler when they were just friends.

He unpacked his things and put them away before leaving the suite himself. He had done his research on Edinburgh, knew the places Moran might go, the people he might talk to. He knew as much as it had pained his brother Anthea was also in Edinburgh, monitoring things from a different suite in the same hotel with someone else he trusted highly. She would be his liaison to the British government, his emergency out if he needed it. He wandered through Edinburgh when he was done letting it be known he was in town, trying to kill time. After an hour he made his way to the rooms Anthea and the woman with her were occupying and knocked twice before pausing and then knocking a third time. The door opened and he stepped inside, seeing the room filled with electronics and Anthea at a table covered with monitors. “A step up from surveilling me?” he asked her.

“I suppose,” she said, not taking her attention off the screens. “You at least do things. Moran has been holed up in this pub for two hours now.”

“Does he know I’ve arrived?” Sherlock asked.

Anthea nodded. “He was alerted when you made the discreet inquiry for him at the bordello.”

“Good. I don’t relish having to slink around Edinburgh the entire time I’m here chasing a rat. I’d rather get in his good graces now than later.” He moved around behind her and stared at the screen she appeared to have most of her attention on. “Molly isn’t being followed?”

“No, she is. He has women tagging her, though. Smart of him, I suppose.” Anthea pointed to a blonde and a woman he assumed was a ginger, though it was hard to tell by the black and white CCTV screens. “They’ve shown up at each store she’s gone into five minutes after she has. I doubt she’s noticed them.”

“I’ll try to bring them to her attention after dinner,” he said.

“Cucina?” Anthea asked.

Sherlock nodded. “Yes.”

"Tell Molly to avoid the pesce spade alla messinese," she said. "I know she likes fish dishes but she wouldn't approve of swordfish messinese style. The coda di rosp al forno, ceci c 'nduja calabrese is much more suited to her palate." She paused. “And she’ll adore the tiramisu.”

“I’ll tell her,” he said, filing away the fact that Anthea had been there before in his file on her. He’d have to ask if it had been from setting up the equipment the night before or some other previous stay in Edinburgh, perhaps with his brother. “Anything else I should know?”

“She bought lingerie,” Anthea said. “Some very nice items. I don’t know what that means for you, but I thought that might interest you.”

He felt an interesting sensation come over him. He doubted it meant anything at all towards him, that she probably bought them because women simply liked nice lingerie, but the idea that she _had_ it was going to be an interesting thought in his head that was going to be hard to get out. “I see,” he murmured.

“I will text you if I need to speak to you some more, Sherlock,” she said in a dismissive tone, waving him off with her hand. He turned and left the room at that point before glancing at his watch. He had another hour until their dinner reservations. Molly would probably finish her shopping soon and then make her way to the room to get ready, so he should remain scarce. He decided to go to the lobby and wait there, as there was no point in going to the bar. He pulled out his mobile and quickly texted Molly to tell her his plans before heading there and finding a comfortable seat.

He distracted himself until he heard a throat clear and then he looked up. She had on a halter dress that was dark blue at the top and seemed to become lighter at the bottom, almost a turquoise color, that was decorated with blue leaves and white flowers. She’d pulled her hair back into a chignon and secured it with a jeweled comb. “Is this too dressy?” she asked a bit nervously.

“Even if it is, you look exquisite,” he said, getting up. He offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

She smiled up at him and then took his arm. “Thank you for the spa treatment,” she said. “It was lovely. I got the Rose Hydrator package and I feel so much better.”

“If you want to go back, feel free,” he said. “You might as well enjoy yourself while we’re here in Edinburgh.”

“I just might,” she said. “Did you make any progress today?”

He shook his head. “Sadly, no. But there’s still a chance.” He gave her a small smile before leaning in. “Just in case there are prying ears, though, let’s not talk about it. Anthea swept our suite for bugs and she’s monitoring it. We can speak freely there.” He finished by kissing her cheek, to make it appear as though he was whispering sweet nothings, and then straightened up. She smiled at him and nodded before launching into a new topic as they waited to be seated. One day, perhaps, if things regarding this case ended well and she still wanted to be around him, he could see about having an actual real date with her, where there was no pretending. It would be nice, he thought. But for now, this was all he had, and he would have to play along and hope for the best.


	6. Chapter 6

It had not been easy sharing a bed with Molly, he realized. It was a large bed, and they had ample space, but he wanted to be near her, and to have her be so close and still have to keep a distance was frustrating. He’d barely gotten any sleep while she’d slept quite soundly, and he seemed even more disgruntled and snappish in the morning. The worst part was it merely seemed to amuse her, which soured his mood even more.

Her conference began that morning and after breakfast brought to them by room service she left the room while he lingered. He knew his way around Edinburgh, having spent some time there in the two years he dismantled Moriarty’s network. He could certainly nose around a bit more, poke at other potential places Moran could be, but then he would just look as though he was desperate for the man’s attention. He would let Moran come to him whenever he was ready, and if the man wasn’t ready by Friday evening then he would take matters into his own hands. But that left him with time on his own.

He was already dressed so he made his way to the lift and down to the lobby. He was going to head to the street when he heard a familiar laugh and stopped. That was Molly’s laugh, he realized. He made his way in that direction, keeping himself slightly hidden around a corner. Then he looked around the lobby and spotted her, sitting in a chair across from a generically handsome man with blonde hair and blue eyes and a disconcertingly white smile. A smile he kept giving to Molly as he leaned forward to listen to her. Oh, and she was quite animated as she talked.

He had no clue who the man was but he wanted to march right up to him and sock him in the face. Or even better, have Anthea find out who he was and absolutely _ruin_ him. Make him destitute. Make him the most hated man in all of the United Kingdom. No, all of Europe. Actually, all of Eurasia was even better. No…the entire Northern Hemisphere. And Australia, too, for good measure. And even New Zealand, if that would mean more people could loathe the sight of him.

And _then_ he wanted to beat him to a pulp.

It took him a moment to realize he was jealous. He was irrationally jealous of a man who was making Molly laugh and smile and be _happy_. He knew nothing about the man and simply seeing him with Molly and knowing that when all of this was over she could easily call _him_ up and ask _him_ out and kiss _him_ and—

Oh, bloody hell.

He shut his eyes as the cold, hard truth hit him. He, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, had fallen in love, and he’d done it with a woman who couldn’t possibly feel the same way towards him because she only saw the two of them as friends, and she saw what was going on between them now as pretend.

 _Wonderful_.

He opened his eyes and made his way away from her and the blonde Adonis towards the entrance to the hotel. He was not a believer in drinking away your troubles but he wanted to strongly make an exception. It would do no good, though, as none of the pubs would open until at least noon. So he just walked. He tried not to think about things, but his mind decided to torment him by going over all the things that could possibly go wrong if he was foolish enough to tell Molly how he really felt or worse, if he tried to show her. He’d walked for nearly two hours when his mobile began to ring. He pulled it out and didn’t recognize the number. That might be Moran. “Holmes,” he said when he answered.

“I was told you might want to have a chat,” Sebastian Moran said.

“I had thought it might be a good idea, considering we’re in the same area for at least a few days,” Sherlock said. 

“You’re near the Abbotsford,” Moran replied. “It’s the pub at the east end of Rose Street. Be there in twenty minutes.”

Sherlock glanced at his watch, seeing it was only ten thirty. “I thought the pubs opened at noon,” he said.

“It helps to know the owners,” Moran replied. “The Abbotsford, twenty minutes.” He hung up then without waiting for a reply.

Sherlock wasn’t quite sure where he was but he saw a cab waiting. He went over to it and had the driver take him to the pub. It was only a seven minute drive with the light traffic, and he paid the man and got out when they got there. He went up to the door and found it unlocked. There was a man by the door who looked down at the far end of the island bar and gave Moran a look, and the man nodded. He came over and Sherlock dutifully raised his arms and spread his legs to be patted down. Once the man was satisfied he made his way to where Moran was seated and sat next to Moran. “I had expected you to be someplace more dark,” Sherlock said.

“Bond No9 and The Raconteur both closed down while I was away from Scotland,” Moran said, picking up his glass. “And neither had the Abbotsford’s collection of single malt whiskies. Sometimes you have to let a little light into your chosen establishment for a good single malt.” He looked over at Sherlock. “Care to take your chances?”

Sherlock gave a small shrug. “Why not?” he asked.

Moran nodded to the bartender. “Two of these,” he said, pointing to his now empty glass. The bartender nodded, setting a glass on the bar in front of Sherlock and then pouring whisky into each glass, giving them each a hefty measure. Moran picked up his glass. “Lagavulin 37 Year Old Single Malt Scotch Whisky,” he said. “Some of the most expensive single malt in the world.”

Sherlock picked up his glass and drank it. He had to admit, it did taste quite good for whisky. “Worth every penny,” he said.

Moran studied him. “You know too much,” he said slowly, swirling his liquor in the glass. “But I can’t get rid of you. It does no good to threaten you, either. Your brother will make sure I pay dearly for that, if you don’t first.”

“True on all counts,” Sherlock said with a nod.

“So I suppose I need to keep you close,” he said. “I’m not going to tell you my secrets. I’m sure you can ferret them out well enough, or at least most of them. The unimportant ones, most likely. But you’re a dangerous loose end, so until I can figure out what to do with you…” He drank his drink, then signaled for another round for the both of them.

“You do realize I’m going to attempt to bring you down,” Sherlock said as the bartender poured the whisky.

“I know,” Moran said. “Attempt is the word, though. You thought Jim was the brains behind everything. Well, that just proves Jim was a very good actor.” He picked up his drink. “I suppose we’ll find out just how smart you really are now though, Holmes.”

“I suppose we will,” Sherlock said, picking up his own drink. This was not something he had expected. This could be a very dangerous wrinkle in the game, if it really hadn’t been James Moriarty who had been the criminal mastermind behind all of the games and plots they’d worked so hard to deconstruct over the last few years. He drank it slowly.

“Your girlfriend is quite interesting,” Moran said. “If I were you, I would keep her close. She was quite chummy with the blonde at the hotel this morning.”

“She’s allowed to be friendly,” Sherlock said, an edge to his voice. “It’s part of her personality that I wouldn’t want her to change.”

“Well, there’s friendly and then there’s _too_ friendly,” Moran said as he indicated for a third round. Sherlock had to fight the impulse to grab his drink as soon as they were poured. He waited for Moran to pick his up and then drink it. “She should be careful who she’s friends with.”

Sherlock looked at him, then slowly picked up his drink, swirling it just slightly. “You know I killed Charles Augustus Magnussen by now, correct?” he said quietly, his voice cold. 

Moran shook his head slightly. “No,” he said, his eyes slightly widened.

“I did, Christmas Day,” Sherlock said. “He threatened to hurt people I care about. I don’t feel particularly remorseful about it.” He drank his drink and then stood up. “I wouldn’t feel remorseful about doing it to you, either, if you or anyone associated with you harms Molly in any imaginable way. So keep that in mind.” He moved away from the bar and made his way back to the door.

“Holmes!” Moran called out when he reached the end of the bar.

Sherlock stopped but didn’t turn around. “What?” he asked flatly.

“I think this is going to be interesting,” he said.

“I hope not,” Sherlock muttered under his breath before he made his way back outside. He pulled his coat closer as a sudden gust of breeze hit and then went to find a cab. This could pose some potential problems, he realized. Not his threat to kill Moran, though he knew his brother would not be pleased with that. But if Moran was the real brains behind all of this, then there could be some very serious shifts to the plan that needed to be made. Moran could be far more dangerous than they imagined.


	7. Chapter 7

The whisky hit him harder than he had realized and so he went back to the hotel to lay down in the room for a bit. He knew Anthea had probably overheard or lip read every detail of their conversation, so he would expect an earful from Mycroft within the next few hours, and he wanted peace and quiet before that happened. He drew the curtains and put Molly’s pillow over his head to keep everything nice and dark.

He wasn’t sure when the door opened but he tensed until he heard Molly speak. “Are you all right, Sherlock?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, his voice muffled because he didn’t lift the pillow off his face. “Had a little chat with Moran, that’s all.”

He felt the bed move as she sat next to him. “How did it go?” she asked, lifting up the pillow slightly.

He turned to face her. “He said he’s the brains behind everything. Not sure if it’s all a cock and bull story or not,” he said. “Doesn’t hurt to treat it like the truth, though.” He turned his head back. “I had three hefty measures of whisky on a mostly empty stomach. I’m regretting that now.”

“Well, I had come to see if you wanted lunch,” she said. “Pasta would probably do you good, and since Cucina is an Italian restaurant…”

He thought about it. It probably wasn’t the best idea for him to be around people at the moment; when he was in a foul mood and he had a few drinks in his system it never ended well, but when he turned back to look at Molly he saw she looked hopeful. “All right,” he said with a sigh, pulling the pillow off his face. He sat up, getting his bearing, and then stood. Three glasses of whisky wouldn’t impede his movements too much but it would loosen his tongue, so he had to be careful what he said. “I suppose the restaurant is open now?”

She nodded. “It is, considering it’s nearly one.”

His eyes widened slightly. “I slept longer than I’d planned.”

“Apparently,” she said with a smirk. 

They made their way out of their room and down to the restaurant. They were seated quite quickly, and they studied the menus. Not much seemed to be appealing to him, given the condition of his stomach, but after a slight argument with the waiter he settled on two courses consisting of patate arrosto con rosmarino e aglio and petto di pollo al timo e aglio con spinaci e salsa al limone, as the only pasta dish that was offered didn’t sound appealing. Molly ordered cozze alla marinara and sgombbro con panzanella e insalata di rucola, as well as a glass of wine. Sherlock raised his eyebrow at that. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?” he asked.

“I can be a wee bit tipsy when I sit through a panel on innovations in detailing musculature,” she said with a shrug. “It’s not as though I’ll make a fool out of myself on one glass of wine.”

He looked at her with a slight scowl. “Are you saying I’m making a fool out of myself?” he said flatly.

“You could have just ordered a course off the Antipasti menu and not touched it,” she said. “You didn’t have to argue.” She shook her head. “Let’s not fight, all right? I just want this to be pleasant. I don’t want this to be a bad lunch.”

“My apologies,” he said, a tinge of sarcasm in his voice.

She sighed. “Sherlock…”

“If you want, I’ll leave. Perhaps your friend from this morning can join you.”

“You mean Robert?” she asked, furrowing her brows. 

“Tall, blonde, blue eyes, very interested in what you had to say,” Sherlock said, and then regretted it a moment later when Molly gave him a strange look. He pressed on regardless, though. “I saw the two of you chatting in the lobby this morning. You were rather chummy looking.”

“Does it matter if I’m acting chummy with someone?” she asked, beginning to get angry.

He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “When we’re supposed to be dating, yes. When Moran brings it up to me specifically, yes. When I have to worry about people using your friendliness to get close to you, yes, it matters,” he said.

“It’s the way I am,” she said defensively.

“Well, it has to change for now,” he said. “I mean, I know what we have is pretend and when it’s all over you’ll leave me in the dust and go off with some blonde hunk of a man like Robert or some other dashing dark haired male and no matter how much I want you to stay it won’t matter because you’re friendly and you care. But you care too much.”

Her eyes widened. “Sherlock—”

He didn’t hear her, though, and he kept on. “One day you’ll move on from this, from this _fake_ relationship and you’ll love someone else and I’ll have to watch and be happy for you. And maybe that person will hurt you and maybe he won’t, but he won’t be _me_ and that’s what matters.”

“Oh my God,” she said, her eyes wide and mouth open in an O shape when she was done.

It was only then he realized what he had said. It had not been what he had intended to say at all. It had been the absolute _last_ thing he had intended to say. He pushed away from the table. “I’m sorry,” he said as he stood. “I need to go.” He turned and left the table, left the restaurant, and didn’t give her a second glance. Oh, he had mucked it all up now, he thought to himself. He had ruined the whole plan and Mycroft was going to kill him and on the off-chance his brother spared his life he’d be off on the next one way trip to fix a problem that couldn’t be fixed.

He was an idiot on a grand scale and he had no one to blame but himself.


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock wandered around Edinburgh, having turned off his mobile. He didn’t want to talk to Mycroft or Molly unless or until he absolutely had to. He went to some of the gardens, looked at some of the various shops, and considered going to a pub or two to drink his sorrows away before deciding against it. Whisky had gotten him into this mess and having more would just make it worse. Eventually, though, it got late and began to grow cold. He had a quick bite to eat away from the hotel and then made his way back to his room. When he go to the door he paused before opening it. He wasn’t sure if she was in the room or what mood she was in if she was there. But he couldn’t put it off any longer; it was late and he needed to rest, see about figuring out some other arrangement for them if they couldn’t share the same bed or the same room. After a few moments, he opened the door.

She was sitting on the bed in her pyjamas, feet on the mattress and arms around her knees. She looked up and gave him a curious look. “I wasn’t sure you’d be coming back,” she said quietly, lowering her feet onto the floor.

“I can sleep on the floor, if you need me too,” he said. “Or stay in another room.”

She shook her head. “I went to the other panels, but I couldn’t concentrate, so I went to the bar around four. I thought about getting pissed but I just ended up sitting there all night drinking Harmonys and Florals until I decided I wanted something warm and then I had this amazing herbal tea blend called Fantasia. I even had my dinner there. I must have looked so pathetic.”

He looked down. “I didn’t mean to put you in that position, Molly,” he said quietly.

“I’m not done yet, Sherlock,” she said, and he looked up. “I spent all evening thinking about things, about how I feel about this. About all of this, about you and I and what we’re doing and what it’s going to mean for us when it’s over. I fancied you for a very long time. My feelings towards you were part of the reason my engagement ended, and you never once showed them back. But…if I wanted to be honest with myself, I’d hoped these last few weeks hadn’t all been an act. I had hoped you were being close because you wanted to be close, not because you had to be.”

“And now that you know that I did?” he asked quietly.

She got off the bed and moved closer to him. “I wish you hadn’t pushed me away today. I don’t want you to do that. If you want us to actually be something you can’t push me away. Real relationships don’t work that way.” She reached between them and placed her hands on his chest. “If we’re going to give a real relationship between us a chance, you can’t get irrationally jealous and you can’t push me away, all right? And I’ll try and be a little less…inviting, I suppose. I’ll be friendly but not overly friendly.”

He nodded slowly, moving his hands to her waist. “So now what?” he asked.

“Well, have you eaten yet?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “I thought it would be a good idea.”

“Good,” she said, stepping closer. “Then you can kiss me for a little while, if you’d like.”

“I would like that quite a bit,” he said, sliding his hands around to the small of her back to pull her as close as he could. She raised herself up more as he dipped his head down and when their lips met he swore that this kiss was different than the other ones they had shared. The other kisses, while quite exquisite, had felt reserved. This one did not have the same sense that they were holding back, he realized when she slid her hands up to grip his shirt tightly. From the way she was reacting he thought she might sink to the floor if he didn’t hold her up.

Eventually the kiss ended so that they could catch their breath. She looked up at him, smile on her face. “If I’d known that that was what kissing you was really going to be like I’d have done that from the start,” she said.

“So the other kisses were subpar?” he teased.

“No, but that was just…better,” she said.

“I’ll make sure the rest of them exceed that,” he said quietly before ducking his head to capture her lips again. She kissing him back, melting against him. He could indeed get used to this, he realized. After a little while longer he pulled away with some reluctance. “I suppose I should get ready for bed.”

“You know,” she said, moving her hand to play with the collar of his shirt, “I’m not expecting anything to happen, not for a little while, at least, but I would like it very much if you held me close while we slept tonight.”

“I can do that,” he said with a nod.

“Good,” she said, giving him an altogether too brief for his taste kiss before moving back to the bed. He took his pyjamas into the bathroom and changed into them, then made his way back to the bed, finding Molly already under the covers. He lifted up the sheets and blanket himself and got in, and she turned to face him, staying close. “I was thinking we could kiss for a while longer.”

“Just kiss?” he asked, wanting to know what his boundaries were.

She nodded. “I think, for now, that’s best. If things look like they should change then we’ll discuss it then. Does that sound fair?”

“More than fair,” he said, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. He let his fingertips run along her cheek when he was done. “Thank you.”

“For what?” she asked, slightly confused

“For not reading me the riot act for turning off my mobile and being gone so late,” he said.

She scooted closer to him. “I was tempted, but then I thought of something.”

“Oh?”

“I realized your brother was probably already going to do it since it looked like we had a fight at the restaurant, so you didn’t want to deal with that. We’ll just have to be extra coupley tomorrow. And somehow…” She moved her mouth close to his so their lips were mere centimeters apart. “I don’t think you’ll mind.”

“Not in the slightest,” he murmured before kissing her softly. He had expected an altogether different reaction to this afternoon’s events so he was glad to see that, at least on this front, things had a good ending. He just had to hope the rest of it went as well when he inevitable had a conversation with his brother regarding Moran. At the moment, though, he wanted to focus all of his attention on the woman who had honestly made him happier than he had been in a long time and forget about everything else for as long as he could.


	9. Chapter 9

He woke up before she did, pleased to see she hadn’t moved far away from him in the night. Their positions had changed slightly; she was no longer spooned against him, having rolled over onto her other side, but she was still quite close, and he was glad for that. He hadn’t taken his watch off the night before and he pulled his wrist away from her, checking the time. It was nearly seven thirty. Soon her alarm was going to go off and she was going to have to start getting ready for her second day at the conference. Perhaps if he was lucky they could have breakfast first.

“Put your hand back,” she murmured sleepily, rolling over just slightly so she could burrow into him.

He grinned and put his arm around her, pulling her close. “Your alarm is set to go off in eight minutes anyway.”

“Sod the alarm. Sod the conference. Let’s just stay in bed and snog all day,” she said with a slight yawn.

“I think Stamford would be rather displeased with that,” he said, his tone amused. He rolled onto his back and she shifted to rest her head on his chest. “I’d like you to have a post when this is all over, if that’s at all possible.”

“I know there’s the risk I’ll be made redundant if it takes too long,” she said as he began stroking her hair. “But if Moran makes his move sooner rather than later, it might be a moot point whether I go to the conference today or not.” He had told her the entirety of the conversation at the pub prior to them going to sleep for the night, when the passion had cooled a little more and her curiosity had come through. And he was glad for it; Moran could be a more dangerous and craftier opponent than they realized and he wanted her to be well aware of that. He wanted her to be on her guard because he didn’t want to think about what might happen if he lost her now. Involuntarily he held her a bit tighter. “Sherlock?”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“No, it’s nice, but you got quiet and I know that meant you’re in your head,” she said, moving out of his embrace slightly to leverage herself up to look at him. “Talk to me, Sherlock. Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

He reached up to run his fingers through her hair. “Now that our relationship is no longer a fiction, it is more important to me that no harm comes to you,” he said quietly, letting his fingers graze her cheek. “I don’t want to think about what I would do if something happened to you, Molly.”

She leaned in and pressed her lips softly against his, kissing him in a way meant to reassure him. It helped, in its own way, but the thoughts lingered. Still, this was a good way to start the morning. “I will not let him hurt me,” she murmured when she pulled away. “Not Moran or not anyone else. I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he said before pulling her in for another kiss as her alarm went off. They ignored it for a few moments until it shut itself off, and then she pulled away and turned it off before the snooze feature kicked in. He sat up and his stomach grumbled. He was really quite hungry, he realized. “I’m famished.”

“Do you feel like leaving the hotel room?” Molly asked. “Because I was recommended a really great little place with good food that’s nearby. I think you’ll like it.”

“By Robert?” he asked, not able to stop the slight scowl on his face.

Molly laughed and leaned over. “Just so you know, Sherlock, Robert’s here with his husband of six years,” she said with a smile. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek, much to his dismay, causing the scowl to deepen. “But yes. Robert comes here for business every few weeks and he makes it a point to go there at least once. It’s a place called Broughton Delicatessen. It doesn’t open until eight so it gives us time to get ready and get over there and enjoy our meals.”

“I thought your panels started at nine,” he said.

“They do,” she said as she got out of the bed. “But there weren’t any that interested me until ten, and the one I’m giving isn’t until eleven.”

He perked up. “You’re giving a panel?”

“Well, it’s a bit last minute, but I have expertise in the subject. It’s about working with law enforcement. The original speaker was called to give testimony in a case and they keep pushing back the day so he had to drop out of the conference. When the organizers found out I was attending they asked if I could step in.”

“I may have to sit in on that one,” he said, getting out of the bed as well.

“It won't be all about you,” she said with a smirk, shaking her head. “It will be about the procedures to follow and proper protocol and things like that. I’ll just toss in a few stories for entertainment.” She moved around the bed and then stood in front of him. “Mind if I use the loo first?”

“Go right ahead,” he said, pulling her close to give her a kiss. She grinned against his lips as she kissed him back, and then much too soon for his taste pulled away and made her way to the bathroom. He sat back down on the bed and then glanced at his mobile. He hadn’t turned it back on because he hadn’t been in the mood to deal with his brother, but he supposed he couldn’t put it off any longer. He turned it back on and once it was fully on he saw he had voicemail waiting. When he got to the menu he was told he had three messages. The first was from his mother and he listened to her ask when he was going to bring his new girlfriend over for dinner before skipping it. He’d deal with that at some later point when the fate of the country wasn’t at stake. The next message was a terse “Call me immediately” message from his brother the day prior, around four in the afternoon. He sighed and deleted it and then moved on to the next message, left at nine the prior evening, straightening up when he heard the number.

 _”You must not be happy with your girlfriend being friendly with other blokes,”_ Moran said. _”Hopefully the two of you are making up now, or this invitation for you both to join me at my estate in Dalkeith might be a bit awkward. Dress nicely. It is a dinner party. And resist the urge to snoop **too** much, Holmes. I’ll let you have a guided tour, if you’d like. Mi casa es su casa and all that. Friday night, seven o’clock sharp. And don’t worry. I know Miss Hooper is here in Scotland on business. I won’t keep you two all night. See you then, Holmes.”_

He saved the message and then dialed his brother’s number. Mycroft answered after two rings. “You have explaining to do, brother mine,” Mycroft said urbanely, the barest hint of anger in his voice.

“Molly and I had a small argument, but it’s fine now as our tiff has been mended and our fictitious relationship is no longer fictitious,” he said. “But that’s not important. I need the floor plan to Moran’s estate in Dalkeith, wherever it is.”

There was a pause. “What do you _mean_ , your relationship is no longer fictitious?” Mycroft asked slowly.

“Exactly what it sounds like,” Sherlock said, trying not to roll his eyes. “But that’s beside the point. Moran left a message on my phone. He invited Molly and I to a dinner party tonight. He’s offered me a guided tour so I don’t, as he said, snoop too much. Mycroft, I think he might be a more dangerous opponent than we realized. He intimated he’s been pulling the strings the whole time, that Moriarty was simply acting the part of the head of the organization.”

“Yes, I heard his boast,” Mycroft said. “Nonsense, the whole of it.”

“What if there is some truth to it?” Sherlock asked. “It would be best not to discount the possibility entirely without thoroughly disproving it first.”

There was another pause on Mycroft’s end. “I suppose you’re right. Very well. I will have Anthea get you the floor plans and you can do with them what you will. And Sherlock?”

“Yes?” he asked.

“Do try your best not to get into a game of one-upmanship again,” Mycroft said. “We don’t want a repeat of the incident with The Woman.”

Sherlock scowled and pulled the phone away from his ear, hanging up on his brother. He waited for Molly to finish making use of the facilities, and when she came out in one of the robes he gathered a change of clothes and went in to use the shower and to shave. When he was done he came out and saw she was dressed in a red and black polka dot dress with a high scoop neck and cap sleeves with a black patent leather belt at the waist. She had pulled her hair back in a knot slightly off center at the back of her neck. “You look very nice,” he said.

“Not too casual?” she asked nervously, biting her lip.

“Professional yet youthful,” he said, pressing a quick kiss in her hair. “We have an invitation to a dinner party at Moran’s estate in Dalkeith tonight. After your talk today I will hopefully be figuring out the layout of said home.”

Her eyes widened. “I don’t have anything to wear!”

“Does Anthea know your sizes?” he asked, and she nodded. “I’ll ask her to get you something suitable. We need to be there at seven and it’s a twenty-seven minute drive to get there.”

“I’ll have to miss a lecture to come back and get ready,” she said, thinking a moment. “But I suppose that will be all right.”

“Good.” He gestured to the door of their room. “Shall we?”

“Yes,” she said, and she headed to the door with him right behind her. Hopefully they would get through all of this without it coming apart at the seams, he thought to himself. They had to, or else he wasn’t sure what fate was in store for him.


	10. Chapter 10

Moran had arranged for transportation for them, they’d found out that morning as they were leaving when the concierge had asked them if they wanted a courtesy call when their driver was ready. Molly gave Sherlock a slightly nervous look but he moved closer, sliding his hand to the small of her back, and nodded, telling the man that was fine. He’d contacted Mycroft as soon as they were away from the hotel to get details, and he had gotten word back by the time the time that Molly’s panel was to start that the driver was not specifically picked out by Moran and thus someone that Mycroft trusted would take his place. When he told Molly that he could see her visibly relax.

Her talk went smoothly. Sherlock sat in the far back so as to not be a distraction, but he marveled at how naturally it all seemed to come to her. Gone were the days of her being a timid mousy thing, it seemed. She had a newfound confidence that added to the same warm, friendly demeanor she’d always had. She still managed to put people at ease and make them feel comfortable around her, even though he could tell that she still didn’t feel 100% comfortable herself. This boded well for their first real test that evening.

He surprised her by taking her to lunch at the hotel restaurant afterward, as their attempt the day before had gone poorly. She had teased him about that as they waited to be seated but he’d silenced her with a kiss, one she seemed eager to return, and by the time the waiter came to seat them with a rather knowing glance he got the feeling the entire wait staff would be gossiping about them in the kitchen during their meal. It was to be expected, he supposed, and they would just have to weather through it.

They went their separate ways after lunch. He made his way to the suite to wait for his delivery and after an hour Anthea’s cohort delivered the blueprints to Moran’s estate, a garment bag, a shoebox and a few bags from some upscale boutiques to him, saying that Anthea was “otherwise occupied on more important business,” in a rather gruff tone. He got the feeling the woman didn’t like him much and it made him wonder just what Anthea and his brother had had to say about him. He took everything into the room, setting the things obviously meant for Molly aside and then laying out the blueprints on the bed and beginning to study them.

The suite door opened at four fifty-two and Molly came inside. He looked up, rubbing the back of his neck before glancing at his wrist. “I didn’t realize the time,” he said.

“Well, if we have to leave by, oh, six fifteen or so, I figured I should start to get ready now,” she said with a smile as she shut the door behind her. “And don’t think about distracting me. I’d like to try and get a quick shower if I can.”

“Do I get at least one kiss?” he asked, turning to face her completely. “I haven’t had one in almost four hours.”

She chuckled and shook her head, moving closer to him. She framed his face in her hands and looked down at him since he was sitting down, and he settled his hands on her waist. “I do hope now that we’re actually dating you don’t become all needy and clingy,” she teased.

“Well, I’ve discovered that I actually enjoy kissing you, which was a surprise as I usually find kissing distasteful,” he said with a small grin.

“You did?” she asked, surprised. “And you were going to snog me for this mission anyway?”

He nodded. “I was willing to put myself through it for the sake of this mission.” He slid his arms around to the small of her back and pulled her closer. “I am glad, however, that I found it enjoyable.”

“I am too,” she said quietly, leaning in to kiss him softly. She didn’t appear to want it to be brief, and while he wanted to kiss her for as long as he possibly could eventually he pulled away so she would go take her shower. “I’ll take that as a hint.”

“As you should,” he said. “Your dress is hanging in the closet, and the rest of your outfit is on the floor in the box and bags.”

“So those are what those are,” she said, moving away to look at the shoebox and bags at the foot of the bed. “Well, I’ll take the dress in with me and change into it once I’ve dried off. You can get ready while I’m doing that since I don’t think you want to go looking like that.”

He looked down at his rolled up shirtsleeves and slightly wrinkled trousers. “I suppose a fresh shirt and suit wouldn’t hurt,” he said.

“Do you know what colour dress I got?” she asked, moving towards their closet. He shook his head. She went to the garment bag and unzipped it. “Wear your purple shirt. That’s my favourite.”

“What colour is your dress?” he asked as she rezipped the garment bag and took it off the bar.

“Black,” she said. “And I think you’ll like it.” She turned and headed towards the bathroom and he took the opportunity to take off his shirt and trousers and freshen up a bit in the part of the bathroom away from the shower. When he was done he went back out and put on black trousers before getting his purple shirt out and putting it on, buttoning it up. Even though it was a dinner party and etiquette said he should wear a tie he didn’t have one and didn’t feel like scrambling around to find one. He did, however, use the cufflinks Molly had purchased for him for, as she had put it, a special occasion. They had been monogrammed with an SH on them in a nice silver font and he found he had liked them. He was having trouble putting the second one on when Molly came out.

She had on a strapless black dress that looked quite fitted to her form. There were four bands of ribbon that crossed along her chest diagonally from right to left with a single thicker ribbon crossing across the middle. She hadn’t washed her hair but had pulled it into a rather sleek chignon. “Let me,” she said, padding over in her bare feet.

“Thank you,” he murmured, snapping out of staring at her. When she got close enough to work on the cufflink he spoke again. “You look very nice.”

“I feel very nice in this dress,” she said with a smile. “I’ve gotten to wear very nice clothing over the last few weeks and I’ve enjoyed it, but this is the nicest dress so far.”

“I suspect Mycroft has your measurements on file and had the dress tucked away in case it was needed,” he said.

She chuckled at that. “Somehow, I don’t doubt that.” She finished adjusting the cufflink and then looked up at him. “I haven’t even looked at the accessories yet.”

“Well, I’m not sure who picked them out,” he said, moving the blueprints so Molly could sit down on the edge of the bed. Once she did she reached down for the shoebox and pulled that onto her lap. She opened the lid and pulled out a shoe. It was quite a high heel, with a peep toe and a T-strap with ruffles on the strap. “Can you wear a heel that high?”

She nodded. “It’s only about three and a half inches. It’s just at the top of my ‘stumble and fall over’ range.” She set the shoe back into the shoebox and then reached into one of the bags , pulling out a black velvet jewelry box. Her eyes widened when she opened it. “This is spectacular.”

Sherlock looked over her shoulder and saw a diamond necklace, bracelet and earring set made of square shaped diamonds that were turned at an angle so they were diamond shaped and then grouped in sets of threes so that they were small arrow points. The necklace and bracelet were simple chains and the earrings were dangles of seven links. “I get the feeling I’m going to owe my brother for those,” he said.

“He isn’t going to let me keep them,” she said, shaking her head.

“Do you like them?” he asked.

She nodded, fingering the earrings. “They’re exquisite.”

“Then I’ll find a way for you to keep them,” he said. She gave him a wide smile and then set the box aside before picking up the last bag. There was a clutch inside, big enough to hold her mobile, a tube of lipstick and maybe one or two other essential pieces of make-up. She studied it a moment more, pulling it closer. “What is it?”

“A tracking device, I think,” she said. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Sherlock said. She set the bag down and then picked up the shoebox again, taking the shoes out and putting them on. She put the bracelet on next, and then took the earrings out of the box and took them to the mirror to put them on. Sherlock picked up the box and then took it over to her, taking the necklace out. He put it around her neck and then clasped it before pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. “You look exquisite.”

She shut her eyes and pressed back against him. “Well, whoever picked it out has exquisite taste.”

“Probably Anthea,” he said. Their room phone rang and Sherlock reluctantly pulled away from her to answer it. After a moment he hung up the phone and turned to her. “Our driver is here.”

“Let me slip my mobile and lipstick in the clutch,” she said,” going back to the bags and pulling the clutch out. She did, and then she realized there was something else in there as well, pulling out a silky black wrap for her shoulders. “There’s a wrap, too.”

“At least you’ll be able to stay a little warm,” he said, getting his suit jacket and putting it on.

“That will be nice.” She slipped it around her shoulders and then went to the loo to get her lipstick. Once that was in her clutch she went back out and put her mobile in from her handbag and put that in. “I’m ready.”

They headed out of their room and made their way to the lobby. Once they got outside he smirked when he spotted Anthea in a driver’s uniform. “You’re our driver?” he asked.

“It’s my temporary assignment,” she said. “We couldn’t get anyone else on such short notice who knew the area.”

“I feel better already,” Molly said with a smile.

Anthea opened the door for them. “We have things to go over, so we’ll do that on our way. There are some things you need to know and we need to have plans in place.”

“Very well,” Sherlock said as Molly slipped into the backseat. He followed her, feeling a sense of excitement go through him. Things were beginning to be put into motion, and provided tonight went well there could be a definite inroads into the plans to figure out Moran’s plan and stop him before people got hurt…or worse.


	11. Chapter 11

Sherlock had not been at all surprised that the dinner party had been small and intimate. There had been himself and Molly, two other couples, a rather voluptuous woman that Sherlock was sure was masquerading as Moran’s date even though Sherlock knew his tastes didn’t run that way and Moran himself. He had stayed close to Molly most of the evening, partly in a protective stance but also partially, though perhaps not entirely in a way he was fully aware of, because he wanted to assert that Molly was with him. In more primal terms Molly was _his_ mate and if anyone had any ideas to the contrary then they had best think otherwise. He didn’t like to acknowledge the fact the baser instinct was there but it was.

After the dinner was served the women departed into the garden room to talk amongst themselves while the men took a tour of the home. Sherlock did keep a keener eye as he was shown around, but it appeared as though Moran was merely inhabiting the property on a temporary basis and had no plans to make it a permanent abode. There was nothing of note on the first or second floors. Eventually the men drifted back down to the ground floor and into the drawing room for brandy and cigars. Sherlock stood near the windows overlooking the gardens, peering out into the darkness.

“Didn’t find what you were hoping for,” Moran said, coming over with two snifters of brandy, offering one to Sherlock.

Sherlock looked down at them, and then took one. Brandy as his brother’s preferred drink; if he had to have anything himself, he was a 100 proof vodka person, but having been forced to be around Mycroft meant he had an appreciation for the drink. He had a taste. It was definitely one of the better brandies he had had. Almost as good as Mycroft’s brand. “No. But then I was keeping an open mind.”

“Ah,” Moran said. The windows of the garden room as well as the windows of the drawing room were open, and the women were playing old fashioned jazz music. Every once in a while a burst of feminine laughter could be heard faintly from the other side of the home. “Miss Hooper is a lovely woman. You have good taste.”

Sherlock nodded. “I suppose I do.”

“Would you _really_ kill me if I did anything to harm her?” Moran asked as he raised his glass to take a sip of his brandy.

“I’d gut you like a day old fish without a second thought and let you watch your intestines spill out on the floor while you tried to shove them back in as I slipped a noose around your neck to string you up and pull it back little by little and watch your life slowly slip away,” Sherlock said conversationally.

Moran’s eyes widened for just a moment before he finished raising his glass. “I see you’ve given this some thought,” he said when he’d had his drink.

“I had two years of undoing the damage Jim Moriarty did to worry about what might happen to my friends, and Molly in particular,” Sherlock said with a slight shrug. “That gave me plenty of time to devise a very painful way for someone to regret laying a hand on her.” He turned away from the window to look at Moran. “Did you have any particular reason for inviting us here, or did you just want to show off? If so, you did a remarkable job at that. This is an impressive manor, though I do think you won’t be staying long.”

Moran gave him a grin. “I did want to show off, mostly. But I thought we could have a friendly chat. I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot at the pub.” He gestured to the gardens with the glass holding the brandy. “Walk with me?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Walk out in the dark? Alone? With you? I’m not an imbecile.”

“Unlike Jim, I am a gentleman. And as a gentleman, I give you my word of honour that I won’t harm you tonight. We’ll walk to the pond, which I can have the pathway to lit. We can even ask Molly to join us, if you’d like.”

Sherlock considered it. He knew there was the microphone hidden on his suit; if there really was any trouble, Anthea would hear it and the local police could swoop in. They were nearby. Of course, Moran would have to know this. He didn’t seem to be an idiot. Finally, Sherlock nodded. “Very well.”

The two men set their glasses on the table and left the drawing room, heading into the hall and then going out onto the porch and then outside into the gardens after Moran switched on the lights on the path. Sherlock glanced at the large bay windows in the garden room and saw Molly looking at him, slightly worried, and he gave her a reassuring look and a small wave before turning back to Moran. Moran had seen her. “You know, I had thought it might be an act. The other woman…that was all an act, right?”

“It’s not polite to call a woman who says you shag seven times in a day a liar,” Sherlock said. “It might have been an over exaggeration, though.”

“How much of an over exaggeration?” Moran asked.

“I’ll keep that between myself and Miss Hawkins,” he said.

“She worked for Magnussen,” he said.

“Yes, she did,” Sherlock replied.

“And you killed him.”

“Yes, I did,” he said. “Do you have a point you’re trying to make?”

“Just trying to connect dots,” Moran said. “You may have cared for her, but you can at least admit you used her, right?”

“I did,” Sherlock admitted with a shrug. “But Magnussen was a blackmailer. She used me as well, for him. It went both ways. I don’t hold it against her. She and I are on friendly enough terms.”

Moran looked surprised at that. “Interesting.”

Sherlock stopped moving. “I don’t see why it should be. I broke her heart. She got her revenge. And then we made up like adults do. We got over it. We’re friendly but not friends.” He crossed his arms. “Is there any particular reason my choice in paramours is the topic of conversation? Because if you think I will only cause you harm if you go after Molly, I’ll only give you that particular messy end if you go after Molly. Go after other people I care about and I’ll just aim a gun at your chest and pull the trigger a few times and leave you to die in a pool of your own blood. And for your information, Janine Hawkins is included in the list of people I’m willing to kill to protect.”

Moran shook his head, smirking. “Jim was all wrong about you. He said you only had one fatal flaw, that John Watson was your biggest weakness. He was so convinced he could manipulate you by manipulating him. But I knew there were other people you cared about. I knew Molly was important, and that detective inspector, and your landlady. And you just keep adding people to your stable of friends. You keep adding targets to your back.”

“If you thought this was better than the pub conversation you clearly don’t know how a conversation with me is supposed to go,” Sherlock said, clenching his jaw slightly.

“I’m not here to threaten your friends, Sherlock,” Moran said. “No. I’m smarter than Jim was. No, I’m here to suggest we join forces. Work _together_. I’m sure you’d love to tweak your brother’s nose a bit. It’s not like there isn’t any love lost between the two of you. And I could use you. Use your special set of skills.”

Sherlock looked at him. “You want me to help you evade law enforcement by telling you how to commit the perfect crimes?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

Moran shook his head. “That’d just be setting myself up for getting caught. You…you’re too much on the side of angels for that.” Sherlock scoffed at that. “You think you’re not, Sherlock, but you are. But there are things you can do, things that I and others in my organization _can’t_ do, that I may have occasional need of. And, in exchange, those you care about will be protected. Starting with the lovely Miss Molly Hooper.”

Sherlock turned and glanced back at the garden room, pretending to look for Molly and consider it. In essence, though, he had gotten exactly what he had hoped for this evening. He had gotten acceptance into Moran’s upper echelon of acquaintances. He would have to see exactly what Moran wanted, what Mycroft would let him give to Moran, but the plan was in motion. And at least, for the moment, there was some measure of actual safety for his friends too. The real danger to everyone would be when Moran realized that he had waltzed into a carefully laid trap. Finally he turned to Moran and then nodded. “Do I have time to think about it?” he asked.

“Tomorrow night. Bring Miss Hooper to dinner at 21212,” he said. “Seven PM. I’ll expect an answer then.” Moran made a shooing motion while he pulled out a cigar and lit it.

Sherlock made his way back to the manor. He went into the porch and then went to the garden room. Molly had been laughing at something when he opened the door, but she gave him a quizzical look when he stuck his head in. “I thought you might want to leave now,” he said. “It’s nearly ten.”

“Oh, I do have an early day tomorrow,” she said, giving the other woman a wide smile as she stood. She came over and took Sherlock’s arm as they went to get his coat and her wrap, and the smile dropped off her face. “Now I remember why I hate being around society people.”

“Oh?” Sherlock asked.

“They were complaining about their maids and their butlers and governesses and…” She shook her head. “Did you learn anything important?”

Sherlock put a finger to his lips and then they made their way out the door to the car. Anthea was leaning against it and she looked up when they approached before opening the door for them. Once they were inside he got settled and waited for the partition to be lowered. “Well?” Anthea asked.

“He wants me to work for him,” Sherlock said. “I don’t know the details, but he says he wants to put my skills to use, and not by telling members of his organization how to commit the perfect crimes.”

“Interesting,” Anthea said. “What did he offer in exchange?”

“The continued safety of the people I hold dear,” he said, and he felt Molly tense beside him. He reached over to grasp her hand, running his thumb across her knuckles. “I know they don’t really need it, but…”

She was quiet a moment. “They need it more than you might think, Sherlock,” she said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Molly asked.

“Sherlock has many enemies,” Anthea said in a rather careful manner. “Most avoid him because dealing with Sherlock means dealing with Mycroft, which only reckless idiots would do. But the rest…”

“The rest avoid me because that means dealing with whoever is in charge of the remnants of Moriarty’s organization,” Sherlock said quietly. “Which at this point most likely means Moran.”

Anthea nodded. “So the added protection is a good thing for the moment. It keeps the really idiotic people from doing something…well, idiotic.”

Molly was quiet for a moment. “So this is all more dangerous than we’d thought,” she said quietly.

“It could be,” Sherlock said, putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. “But I will keep you safe. I promise that, no matter what else happens, no harm will come to you.”

“You swear?” she asked, looking up at him.

He nodded, leaning in towards her as the partition closed again. “I swear,” he murmured before he kissed her. She moved as close as she could and he kept her there, wanting to reassure her that he would, indeed, keep her safe. He’d be damned if anything happened to her, and come hell or high water he’d make sure she was safe…even at the cost of his own life.


	12. Chapter 12

When they arrived back at the hotel Anthea didn’t go inside with them, instead dropping them off at the entrance and telling them she would speak to them after their dinner with Moran the next evening. Sherlock knew he would probably hear from his brother long before then, most likely in either a phone conversation while Molly went to her lectures or via a series of emails laying out the details of what he was and was not allowed to agree to. He rather hoped for the emails but was fairly sure he was going to get the phone calls.

She stayed close in the lift but stayed quiet, and didn’t say much as they got ready for the evening. When they got into bed she curled up against him and was asleep rather quickly, as far as he could tell. The fact she had said very little had not been good, but the fact she stayed close was promising, though. Or at least he hoped it was. It meant she trusted him to keep her safe, to make sure they both got through the entire situation just fine.

They were still rather close when they woke up the next morning, though she’d rolled over onto her other side and had her nose buried in his chest and he had his arm draped over her and their legs were slightly tangled together. He rather liked waking up in this position, he decided with a grin. He very carefully rolled over onto his back and then gently pulled her closer, running his hand on her arm. He could see rain outside their window and hoped it wasn’t like this all day. He’d probably suggest they spend the entire time indoors and that…wouldn’t be a good idea, really.

She woke up see a short time later and adjusted her position to something more comfortable, resting her head on his chest. “Is it raining?” she asked, stretching her arm so it was across his waist.

“Unfortunately,” he said.

“Hmm,” she said. “I don’t really want to go out in the rain.”

“I don’t either,” he said. “But you have a conference to attend and chances are my brother’s going to have things to go over with me before we have dinner with Moran tonight.” She lifted her head up, setting her chin on his chest, and made a slight face. He gave a smile at that, almost involuntarily, and reached over to caress her face. She lifted herself up more, moving up, and hovered slightly above him before leaning down and kissing him softly. When she was done he looked up at her. “Or we could do that for a while.”

“I vote we do that for a while,” she said with a smile before leaning in to kiss him again, a bit more passionately this time. 

He sat up more, savoring the kisses and coming very close to reconsidering his idea of staying in the hotel room until they absolutely had to leave when his mobile went off. He debated answering it, knowing the chances were good it was his brother, and in the end decided to take the call. He saw instead it was Anthea. “It’s Anthea,” he said as she pulled away.

“Answer it,” she replied, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Sherlock nodded and answered his mobile. “Yes?”

“There is information on the room service tray I ordered for you and Molly,” Anthea said. “You both need to read over all of the information. And I’m afraid Molly might need to miss a few lectures to get an outfit and accessories to wear to the dinner tonight. The restaurant Moran chose is one of the few we hadn’t had set up for observation in this area and the owners only just gave us permission this morning. It’s going to be a rush job.”

“I don’t think she’ll mind,” he said, glancing at Molly, who gave him a quizzical look. “We’ll see if the rain stops before we attempt to go out, though.”

“Wonderful thing about really nice hotels, Sherlock: they have concierges who are willing to brave the rain for you if you trust their tastes, and they usually have great taste. Little black dress, and then maybe brave the weather for simple gold jewelry and Molly will be fine.”

“You do this a lot, I take it,” Sherlock said with a slight smile.

“Your brother’s had me in a few interesting positions, yes,” she said. “I’ll be by your suite at five thirty to go over last minute details. Wear the bug again, as it’s not traceable. We want to get as much as we can.”

“All right,” Sherlock said. Anthea hung up first, and then he turned to Molly. “It appears your day of stimulating academic discourse has been put on hold. We have work to do. There will be things arriving with our breakfast that we need to go over and then we need to get you an outfit and accessories for dinner, as Anthea is otherwise occupied, and then she’ll arrive later to go over last minute details with us.”

“It’s a good thing today’s lectures weren’t anything I was particularly excited over,” she said. “But it would be nice if I got to attend two of the ones tomorrow. One’s being run by an old friend and another just sounded interesting.”

“I can’t make promises, but I’ll see what I can do,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said, leaning forward to kiss him. It was briefer than he would have liked, the passionate plans of that morning all but dashed. Then she pulled away and got off the bed. “I’ll make us some coffee, I suppose.”

Sherlock watched her go to the Nespresso coffee maker when there was a knock on the door. He went and opened it to see Anthea’s companion there with a room service tray, the sour expression on her face. She wordlessly pushed the tray into the suite and then turned and left. Anthea must have studied Molly’s tastes fairly well over the years because Sherlock saw things he knew she’d enjoy as well as food he enjoyed on it, plus a pot of the Fantasia tea that Molly had had the night she’d sat at the bar for hours after Sherlock had embarrassed himself at the restaurant. It actually smelled quite nice. He’d have to see if he could get some to take with them when they left. “Our food is here.”

“Oh, good,” she said, turning away from the coffee. Her eyes lit up when she saw the tea. “Is that the Fantasia blend?”

“Yes,” he said with a nod.

“Oh, I may have that instead of the coffee,” she said. “I only started to make the one cup.”

“I’ll have the coffee, then,” he said. They each took their food and their cutlery to the table and began to eat. Sherlock had seen the papers on the second shelf of the cart when he’d been looking to see what was on it and he’d get to it soon enough, but first he wanted to enjoy his food. “Do you mind not attending the lectures today?”

Molly waved her fork in between bites. “It’s fine. Today’s parts were a bit less in my field of work and more in the medical pathology field. I mean, there were three or four talks in forensic pathology but they weren’t particularly interesting. And Mike said if I wanted to enjoy a bit of the local colour he didn’t mind as long as I went to at least half of the talks, and I did that Thursday and Friday. Just try very hard to let me go to the two tomorrow and I’ll have done a bit over my half.”

“When are they?” he asked.

“One is at ten and the other is at one,” she replied. “The one at ten is the most important. My friend Maureen Javert is doing that. She came to Barts from Paris for a year to work in the department and we hit it off stupendously and it will be lovely to see her.”

Sherlock considered things. “If I have to leave tonight or something you could always fly to join me later, if I don’t get to go back to London first,” he said.

“So our globe-trotting may begin tonight?” she said.

“Possibly,” Sherlock said. “It seemed that way from the tone of the conversation Moran and I were having in the garden.”

“I see,” she said. “I didn’t think it’d be so…sudden. I mean, I knew it _could_ be, but now that its right in front of me…”

Sherlock set down his cutlery and reached over for his hand. “We can try and find time to come home briefly. Say there’s urgent business. Your mother is still in England, my family is there, Toby is there…” Molly smiled a bit at that. “You’re allowed to be homesick. If you need to go home for a bit, we’ll go home.”

“Thank you,” she said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. They then went back to eating, and when they were finished they read over the information that Anthea had collected. Most of it was for Sherlock, so there was very little for Molly to do and so she turned on the telly and watched things on that. The rain didn’t seem to let up much after a few hours and so Sherlock suggested Molly talk to the concierge about getting a suitable outfit for dinner at 21212. She went to do that while he finished going over the documents and then they went to the bar at the restaurant, sampling the food and nonalcoholic drinks there that Molly recommended while they waited for her outfits to be delivered, as Sherlock had said that he did not mind several being picked out.

At three the concierge said they had five complete outfits ready that were waiting in the room. Molly and Sherlock went upstairs and Molly began to model them for him. He was quite surprised to find he rather liked all five of them, as did she, but the fifth was perfect: a black bateau neck sleeveless knee length sheath with a ribbon tied in a bow at the waist, black matte leather heels and a black clutch with a silver clasp and silver handle. Molly had a double strand of white pearls, two simple pearl drop earrings held in silver filigree casings and a simple silver and pearl ring for her middle finger with similar filigree to the earrings that she had brought with her just in case they went somewhere fancy which set the outfit off nicely.

Molly began to get slightly more nervous as the time got closer; it was one thing to be at a dinner party among several guests, but it was quite another to be having dinner with just the three of them, or so they assumed. Sherlock had found out they would be dining in the Pod, which was semi-private dining adjacent to the drawing room and meant, at most, that only three other people would join them. He tried to do his best to calm her nerves, ending up just holding her close in their bed.

At five they began to get ready. It didn’t take very long, and at five thirty on the dot there was a knock on the door. Sherlock went to go let Anthea in. She was dressed in what appeared to be a chef’s outfit and he raised an eyebrow. “Do you know your way around a kitchen well enough to blend in?” he asked.

She gave him a rather curt nod. “I’ve taken some courses at Le Cordon Bleu,” she said. “I know my way around a kitchen.” 

Sherlock couldn’t help the impressed look he gave her. “No wonder my brother needs you so much. You’re irreplaceable.”

“He damn well knows it, too,” she said with the barest hint of smugness. “Now, I’ll be in the kitchen with the cook staff. We managed to get one or two of our people around the perimeter and I think one other circulating among wait staff but there is no guarantee that they’ll be your wait staff. As you’ll be using private dining they’re a bit more particular, but we’ll try. However, I’ll be keeping an eye on your food as much as I can, so no funny business there, though I’m fairly sure Moran won’t try anything.”

“I am too,” Sherlock said. “He _wants_ my assistance, even if he keeps goading me in the same breath, it seems.”

“Did Mycroft contact you yet?” she asked. Sherlock shook his head and she let out a slightly agitated sigh. “Be careful what you agree to, then. No outright selling of state secrets, no giving up blueprints of secure buildings, no exchanging Mycroft’s first born child for something that benefits you…” Sherlock snorted at that. “What? He may have one, someday.”

“I sincerely doubt it,” he said.

“Hmm. Well, he might,” she said, her hands moving to the microphone hidden in the lapel of his suit jacket to check to make sure it was still operational. “He doesn’t mind bartering for state secrets, so long as he gets something juicy in return and it wasn’t a huge secret, so keep that in mind. Play Moran like a fine tuned violin was how he put it, I think, when I spoke to him last night.” Once she was sure it worked she smoothed his lapel back into place as Molly came out of the washroom. “You look quite lovely, Molly.”

“Thank you,” she said. “The concierge ended up getting four other lovely outfits as well.”

“Keep a hold of them,” Anthea said. “Word is that he’s making a move to leave Scotland soon. The end of the weekend at least. Possibly by tonight. You should probably be ready to leave and not make a trip back to London first.” Anthea gave Molly a sympathetic smile. “If that’s the case, I’d be more than willing to make sure Toby gets over to DI Donovan’s just fine, for the duration.”

“Oh, would you?” Molly said, giving Anthea a grateful smile. “I’ll call Sally tomorrow and tell her if that’s the case, but if you can make sure I’d appreciate it.”

“I will, I promise.” She turned back to Sherlock. “Get him to accept you without reservation, Sherlock. He already has most of the way. Seal the deal and get into his inner circle. The whole game rides on this.” She turned and went back to the door. “And whatever you do, don’t keep him waiting.” And with that she opened it up, let herself out, and shut it behind her.

Sherlock turned to Molly, who looked slightly nervous again. He took her hands in his, cradling them lightly and running his thumbs over her fingers. “We’ll be fine,” he said. “After tonight I’ll try my best to keep the two of you as apart as I can, all right? But for now, be brave, be charming…be yourself.”

She smiled up at him. “All right,” she said with a nod as he leaned in and kissed her forehead. It was almost show time, he realized. He just hoped he could deliver what he needed to deliver.


	13. Chapter 13

Transportation was arranged for them again by Moran, and when they stepped out of the car the driver held an umbrella over their heads that Sherlock took to cover the both of them as they made their way up to the building. It was actually a rather impressive place, and if he had been taking Molly there under other circumstance he felt sure she would have felt in awe of the place. As it was, he could see she felt a bit nervous and he slipped his free hand around her waist. “Don’t let him intimidate you,” he said, leaning in towards her. “I promise, I will keep you safe.”

“I know,” she said quietly. 

They made their way into the building and when he gave the name that Moran was using in this part of the world they were taken to the drawing room. Moran was easy to spot, sitting in one of the comfortable looking cream chairs around a small circular table. He stood when they approached. "Holmes, Molly," he said. He gestured to the other chairs around the table. "Aperitif?" Both Molly and Sherlock shook their heads as the three of them sat down. "It's a shame it's dark and raining. Supposedly there's a stunning view of the Royal Terrace and the gardens, all the way to The Firth of Forth and beyond."

"Fascinating," Sherlock said.

“You don’t enjoy luxurious sights?” Moran asked.

“Edinburgh wasn’t one of my favourite places to spend time while I was off on my hunt earlier,” he said with a slight shrug, getting comfortable in his seat.

“Perhaps you enjoy other things, then," he said, gesturing to the room. "The look of this room, perhaps. It was lovingly restored, I'm told, as was much of the building. There are many of the original fixtures and fittings in this room. And in our dining area, there is circular cream leather banquette, a pink marble table and a wall length image of Caravaggio's The Seven Works of Mercy. But I'm sure you already knew that when your brother's team had this place put under surveillance for our meeting."

"I was fairly sure you knew that would happen," Sherlock said. "You aren't an idiot."

"No, I'm not," he said. "I could have simply had my compatriots sweep the listening devices out but as I know your brother would find out eventually what was said anyway I decided not to bother. I'd rather he know the complete truth than hear it secondhand and garbled." He picked up the drink he had in front of him and took a sip. "Just note, however, that from this point forward, if you do make an agreement with me, I expect a certain amount of privacy in our dealings. And there will be consequences if I don't have it."

Sherlock nodded. "Understood."

He gestured to the area partitioned off by a fine veil. "Shall we?” He stood up and after a moment Sherlock and Molly did as well, and they made their way to the partitioned off area. Moran had another sip of his drink before looking at Molly with a grin. “Glenfiddich 1937. Have you ever had it?”

She shook her head. “I’m not really a whisky person,” she said.

“Vodka?” he asked.

She gave him a small smile. “Gin and tonic, actually.”

He nodded approvingly. “Good taste.” They sat down, with Molly sitting near Sherlock, and then looked at their choices for the five courses they would have for the evening. There would be a starter, a soup, a main course, a cheese course and a dessert course. They lapsed into silence until a waiter arrived and they gave their choices for their starter course and Moran added an order for a bottle of Bâtard-Montrachet Grand Cru 2006 Domaine Leflaive. When the waiter left he spoke again. “Hopefully this will be an evening of good food and good conversation.”

“For a £600 bottle of wine it had better be,” Sherlock said, leaning back slightly.

“That only ensures the wine should be good, and indicates the food should be as well” Moran said. “The conversation is up to us.”

“I’m not much of a conversationalist,” Sherlock said.

“Perhaps Molly is,” Moran said, turning to Molly. “You do seem much more sociable than your boyfriend.”

“I usually am,” she said, giving Moran a small grin.

“What do you see in him?” Moran asked.

Sherlock clenched his jaw slightly, and Molly glanced at him for a moment before reaching over and covering his hand with hers. “He’s grown on me, I suppose,” she said. “I know he’s brusque and rude with many people, and he’s cocky and a know-it-all, and he can be a prat sometimes, but he’s also very kind and loyal, very caring and considerate, and I don’t want to imagine him not being in my life.” He felt something in him ease, even if he knew in his head she might have said too much, given too much to Moran to use against them. He knew what she said was genuine, that she really felt that. And when he got the chance, he would tell her what he really felt towards her, how much he cared. He turned his hand in hers to grasp it in his.

Moran nodded thoughtfully at that. “I almost thought you two were faking it, at first,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “The way he had with Magnussen’s assistant. He was just more public about it with you. But when he told me what he would do if I went after you…that was when I knew. He really cares about you, Molly. You should feel lucky. You’re quite important to him.” He reached for his drink and finished it off. “It’s good to keep the people important to you close.”

“Yes, it is,” Sherlock said quietly.

“I think I’d like to learn more about you, Molly,” Moran said. “I know some details, mostly what Jim told me, but I don’t _really_ know you. And I suppose in return you can learn about me.”

Molly nodded. “All right,” she said. “What would you like to know?”

Moran asked Molly a question, a simple question about her favorite season of Glee, and she answered with a smile. Sherlock could see her stay slightly guarded and then when she was done she asked a fairly innocuous but still pervasive question about his childhood. It was brilliant. They did a back and forth that went on as the wine and starters arrived. He and Moran had both gotten the truffle risotto while Molly had gotten the “Shell Fish Shells.” Soon Moran pulled him into this question and answer game, and while their questions for each other were more pointed and their answers more succinct they seemed to keep it on friendly terms.

They continued on through the soup and then through to their main courses: Sherlock’s A Date with Pintade, Molly’s Scottish, Welch, English and Moran’s Beef “Rhubarb and Custard.” Even though the bottle of wine was nearly gone between the three of them they were managing to keep their wits about them, not let their tongues get loose. Sherlock had not been around Molly when she’d had a fair bit to drink before and he was pleased to see she held her alcohol well. The conversation slowed as they ate their main course and then picked up again as the cheese course came in, and then when the dessert course came in Sherlock knew that soon the talk was going to turn to business again and the time for idle chitchat was going to be over.

“Did you enjoy the wine?” Moran asked Molly.

She’d nodded. “It was excellent,” she replied.

“I could order a bottle for you to take back with you,” he said. “As a token of a prosperous partnership, perhaps?”

And there it was, Sherlock thought. The segue into business. “There’s no need,” he said.

“I insist, if you agree to a partnership,” Moran said. “For Molly to enjoy, if for no other reason.”

Sherlock was about to protest but Molly put a hand on his arm. “I would appreciate it,” she said with a nod and a smile. “Thank you.” 

Moran signaled to their waiter to bring in a bottle of the wine for Sherlock and Molly to take back with them when they left the restaurant before he left The Pod. Then he went to take a bite of his “Trifle Italiano.” “This is quite excellent.”

Molly had gotten the same dessert and took a bite of her own. “Oh, it is,” she said, shutting her eyes and savouring it.” Sherlock had gotten the coffee & lemon curd tart instead, and took a bite of that. It was tasty, he supposed, but he found himself envious of Molly’s dessert. When she opened her eyes she caught his look and smiled, edging her plate towards him. He took a forkful and tasted it. Yes, he should have gotten her dessert instead. “Do you want to trade?”

“You don’t have to,” he said.

“Yours looks tasty too,” she said. She took her fork and took a bite of his. “Yours isn’t bad. If you want to trade, that’s fine.”

Sherlock hesitated a moment, then swapped dessert dishes with Molly. He looked up at Moran and saw him looking amused and resisted the urge to scowl. Once they had their plates swapped he began to eat. “So what is the arrangement you want to make with me?” he asked.

“I use your services as needed for the more legitimate side of my enterprise,” Moran said before taking a bite of his dessert. “In return for you keeping your nose out of the less savory side of my enterprise I help you track down the elusive James Moriarty.”

Sherlock blinked. This was a surprise. “James Moriarty is dead. He’s a ghost. And aren’t you supposed to want to protect your lover?”

Moran didn’t appear to be nonplussed by the reference to his more intimate relationship with Moriarty. “Your lover is supposed to make you privy to your plans when he goes up to a roof and fakes his suicide,” Moran said, his tone clipped. That was the only thing that belied his anger. "He left me to deal with the organization you threw into chaos and if he thinks he can have it back since I’ve set it to rights he’s sorely mistaken.”

Sherlock leaned forward slightly, his mind whirring at what he’d just heard, or what he just _thought_ he’d heard. He couldn’t have possibly heard that, could he? “Are you telling me you’re trying to legitimize Moriarty’s criminal empire?” he asked incredulously when he finally spoke.

Moran nodded. “Yes.”

Sherlock leaned back in his seat slowly. This was…unexpected. “I see,” he said.

Moran had another bite of his dessert. “So it’s an above the board proposition, you see. Your brother may think he’ll get his hands on some juicy secrets, use you to dismantle the rest of my organization, but I’m beating him to the punch.”

Sherlock studied him. He didn’t believe him. He didn’t believe Moran in the slightest. He’d be an absolute fool to believe Moran. But if he didn’t accept the offer, he’d have no chance at getting close enough to get any details at what was _really_ going on. After a few moments he nodded. “Very well,” he said. “I accept.”

Moran grinned. “Then when we’re done, I suggest we go back to the drawing room for an after dinner drink. I’m thinking a glass of Vintage Port 1963 for me. It’s definitely worth the £250 a glass.”

Molly considered it. “I suppose I could have a drink. Though no more wine.”

“A glass of sherry, perhaps?” Moran suggested. “They have PX Antique Fernando Castilla here.”

“Is that good?” Molly asked.

“It’s supposed to be among the best,” Sherlock said.

“All right, then,” Molly said.

“And you, Sherlock?” Moran asked.

Sherlock looked at him. “I suppose I could indulge in a glass of port as well,” he said.

Moran nodded and then picked up his fork. “Excellent. I know you have one more day of your conference left, Molly, so I won’t keep you late. But we need to make arrangements. I need your expertise in Austria next, Sherlock. I’d recommend the Palais Hansen Kempinski Grand Residences. You’ll be in Vienna for quite some time.”

Sherlock nodded. There were things to do and arrangements to make but the plan was in motion. There was no turning back now; the game was afoot.


	14. Chapter 14

Sherlock and Molly looked at flights for the trip from Edinburgh to Vienna to leave on Sunday when they made it back to the hotel, but the ones that left Sunday evening would take far too long to get them there. So they decided to stay one more evening in Edinburgh and would leave Monday morning at eleven for the just over four hour long flight to Vienna. He was rather grateful for that; Molly would get to enjoy the time with her friend and that would please her, and at least that would be one thing he could do for her before their long inconvenience began. Even though it had been quite late by the time they had returned to their room he had managed to get a hold of someone at the Palais Hansen Kempinski and he was able to get them one of the Grand Residences that the hotel offered for long term stay. He had also arranged for a car to pick them up from Vienna International Airport and take them to the hotel. 

They had gone to sleep late that evening, Molly more easily than him. He had quite a bit on his mind, and even with having her close he found he couldn’t get his mind to settle. He wasn’t sure what to make of Moran’s claim that he was trying to legitimize Moriarty’s organization, or that Moriarty was indeed alive and the video had not been a hoax. If the first claim was true, there would be less to worry about, though there was still the fact that not _all_ of the organization would be legitimate. If the second claim was true? The situation was probably much worse than he thought it could be.

Eventually he fell asleep, keeping Molly close. When they woke up the next morning they got ready and had a leisurely breakfast away from the hotel before Molly attended the two lectures she had wanted to attend. When she was done with the lecture her friend was giving the three of them to a late lunch at Howie's that lasted for a few hours. He learned quite a bit about Molly during that lunch, much to her embarrassment, but she seemed to have enjoyed herself. Then they went around Edinburgh, looked at some of the shops that Molly wanted to go to before they left the city. They took dinner at Cucina one last time and then went back to their room to pack before eventually falling asleep.

The next morning they got their things and checked out, making their way to the airport and boarding a flight on KLM Airlines to Amsterdam. It would be an hour and a half long flight, and then they would have an hour long layover there before getting on a final flight to Vienna that would take just under two hours. He’d made it a point to get them business class tickets as opposed to economy class; it cost quite a bit more, but it would be more comfortable.

It was nearly five by the time they arrived in Vienna, and the car that picked them up was rather nice. They settled in and Molly smoothed down the navy blue dress with the ruffle down the middle she had worn to make it easier to travel. “Part of me is curious and part of me is…I don’t know. Already rather homesick,” she said. “I hadn’t quite expected to have to be living out of a suitcase already.”

“I know,” he said, reaching over for her hand and lacing his fingers through hers. “I hadn’t either. I hadn’t expected any of this, really. I think there is more to this than I’m being told by Moran. He wants to keep me off my guard, wants to keep me from digging.”

“And will you?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Not a chance. I have contacts worldwide from going after Moriarty’s organization. I have some here in Austria. I’ll make use of my local ones as well as others in this country. If he’s into anything illegal here that he’s trying to put a legal face on, I’ll find out about it.”

She nodded and then rested her head on his shoulder. “Do be careful, though. If he was telling the truth about Moriarty…”

“I know,” he said quietly, resting his other hand on top of their joined ones and squeezing gently. He didn’t want to think about that. Moriarty was a true psychopath, a rather deranged specimen if he’d ever seen one. With Moran trying to change his organization and Sherlock being a part of that, there could be a very large target on Sherlock’s back, and Molly’s by extension. To be honest, if there was any real truth to what Moran wanted, there was probably one on his back as well. He doubted Moriarty would allow what Moran was doing to slide, unless it was part of an elaborate scheme. Sherlock wouldn’t put it past him. But if it wasn’t, Sherlock wondered just how much protection Moran could realistically provide.

They lapsed into silence for the short ride from the airport to the hotel. When they arrived they were told that normally they would have their own private underground parking if they got transportation of their own with their own entrance and elevator, but as they needed to check in they would be taken to the main lobby. Sherlock nodded and went to take care of that, and then they were taken to the apartment. If they had thought the suite they had just stayed in was luxurious it had nothing on this penthouse suite. Sherlock listened as he was told about the various services that the hotel offered that they were entitled to while Molly began to wander around, looking at various things.

Finally they were left alone and she came over to him. “Sherlock…this must be costing a fortune,” she said quietly.

“Moran mentioned this hotel and these penthouses by name,” he said. “There had to be a reason for that, so it was deemed that we should reside here. There is a fund for high end lodgings like this. You think that James Bond nonsense is all fiction? There is a way he can afford all those fancy gadgets and cars and clothes.”

She shook her head, giving him a small smile. “I didn’t realize you were a spy genre fan.”

“I’m not. But Moran is. In my effort to study him I marathoned a wide variety of spy films.” He frowned. “I doubt you will find much English language fare here to entertain you, come to think of it, but there is Wi-Fi. I’m sure you should be able to download things to your laptop or tablet.”

“I’ll manage,” she said with a smile. “But you should look around with me.”

“Well, I was thinking we should see about dinner,” he replied. “I know nothing about the restaurants here at the hotel yet but I was informed there is twenty-four hour inroom dining so I thought we might want to take advantage of that. And, if we choose later, we could always get food and make use of the kitchen en suite.”

“It would be nice to cook our own food,” she said, moving towards the kitchen. “Then let’s order food and look around. And maybe I’ll slip into one of the bathrooms and take a soak. I don’t know what it is but airline travel always leaves me so…grimy feeling.”

He gave her a small smile and then reached for her, grasping her wrist lightly. “I promise, I will try and make this experience as pleasant as possible. More pleasant than Edinburgh,” he said.

She pulled her wrist out of his grip and then moved in front of him, placing her hands on his chest and looking up at him. After a moment he moved his hands to her waist before sliding them to the small of her back. “I don’t know,” she said softly, looking at him. “There was some good that came out of the trip to Edinburgh. I mean, what’s going on between us…it became real. That was a very good thing in my book.”

“I’m glad you feel that way,” he said as she pressed herself against him slightly.

“And we managed to find out a few things for all of this, and got you cozy with Moran. We may be gone for a while, but we think we know more now. That’s a good thing as well.”

“I suppose it is,” he said. "Though I’d rather focus on the fact that what’s going on between you and I is no longer a fiction.”

“I would too,” she said with a smile before leaning in and kissing him softly. After a moment she slid her hands up to wrap her arms around his neck to keep herself close, and he held her that way for a few moments. Eventually, after what seemed far too quickly for his taste, he pulled away. “I do enjoy doing that.”

“I do too,” he said with a grin, rubbing small circles on her back. “Perhaps we can do that for a while before we explore?”

“I don’t see why not,” she replied before kissing him again. They would eventually settle in, but for now, this was a _much_ more worthwhile use of their time, he thought to himself.


	15. Chapter 15

Neither of them had set an alarm and he found himself waking up after her, and for Molly to be running her hand up and down his arm while she rested her head on his chest. He lifted his head slightly and pressed a kiss in her hair, and then she moved her head and rested her chin on his chest and looked at him with a soft smile. “Good morning,” she said.

“Good morning,” he said, beginning to run his hand up and down her back.

“It feels a bit strange, waking up in a new bed, in a new city that’s in a new country,” she said, moving her hand so that her arm was wrapped around his waist. “But at the same time, it feels nice waking up with you. It’s been a long time since I’ve shared a bed with someone.”

He nodded slightly and moved his hand to stroke her hair back. “I don’t think I’d ever shared a bed, except with Janine, and I didn’t enjoy that experience much,” he said. “It’s different with you. It’s more comfortable. Everything is more comfortable with you.”

“I’m glad,” she said, her smile getting wider. She edged herself up and then pressed her lips against his, and he tangled his fingers in her hair as he kept her close. He knew it was too soon, but a part of him wanted to keep her as close as he could, in every possible sense. He hadn’t felt those urges in a long time, and he was surprised he had felt them so quickly with Molly, but he could temper down the physical signs and reign in the urges until he had the feeling Molly was at the same point. For now, he would kiss her and enjoy being as close as she would let him be and endure cold showers if needed.

After a little while she pulled away and looked down at him. “If we’re not careful we might get carried away,” she said.

“And now would not be the time for that,” he murmured.

“No, I don’t think so,” she said. “But…I don’t think it would be long, to be honest. I think, even with part of our relationship being fake, we were still…” She seemed to be groping for the words. “I think the kissing and the being close then just made me more eager, I suppose. Now that we’re actually together, I don’t really want to wait too long.”

“I understand,” he said with a nod. “And I suppose with us being in this situation, there won’t be much else for us to do. It’s bound to happen at some point, and probably sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” she said. “But I want to be sure. I mean, really sure that when this is all over, when we go back home and back to our normal, everyday boring lives, that what’s going on between us doesn’t just go away.”

He sat up more, and so did she, and he made sure he looked at her, caressing her face. He cared, he did. But it was more than that. He just wasn’t sure he could tell her that, not just yet. But…soon. Soon he would be able to tell her. But he could make her a promise, at least. “It won’t go away,” he said. “I won’t leave you. I won’t abandon you, and I won’t let you pull away from me, either. Whatever it takes, we’ll make this work.”

She nodded slightly. “Good,” she said quietly, leaning in to kiss him again, more softly this time. He kissed her back, letting her set the pace in keeping it soft and gentle, and after a few moments she pulled away. “I suppose we should see about breakfast. I’m starved.”

“Well, I can call the front desk for a recommendation of where to eat,” he asked. “But that involves us getting out of this bed.”

“I suppose we had to eventually,” she said. She pulled away from him completely and then moved off the bed towards the dresser, pulling out some clothes. “I’ll go take a shower and get dressed.”

He needed and then reached over for the phone to call the front desk. After speaking to someone for a few moments, he settled on taking Molly to Café Diglas. As he hadn’t gotten a car for the two of them to use he arranged for the use of transportation that came with their services at the hotel, but they would have to wait an hour until they could leave. That gave them plenty of time to get ready to leave, though, so that was fine. Once Molly was showered and dressed he made his own use of the facilities, and they killed time until their transportation was ready to go.

Once they arrived at the café they were seated rather quickly and given a menu in English. Molly bit her lip as she looked at Sherlock. “It’s going to be hard to adjust, with having to ask for things in English,” she said. “I know absolutely no German.”

“Well, I’m sure a lot of businesses have things available in English,” he said. “But unless Moran has me running around all the time, my German is passable. I can translate.”

She grinned as she perused her menu. “You are definitely an omniglot, aren’t you?”

“I need to be better than Mycroft at something,” he said. “I have a better ear for languages than he does, so I pick them up better, though he’s better at Asiatic languages than I am.”

“Well, can you teach me the basics?” she asked.

He nodded. “I can give you private lessons. And I can reward you well when you do particularly well with your lessons.”

Her grin got wider. “Mmm. That sounds promising.” She went back to going over her menu, and when it came time to place their orders she got scrambled eggs, Sacher sausages with horseradish and mustard, three marmelade crêpes and an Einspänner large mocha with whipped cream while he got a Large Diglas breakfast. He planned to swap his ham shank for her sausages but otherwise they were both fairly happy with the meal. He saw by the look on her face that this was a place she might like to come to with some regularity, so he filed that away for future reference. When their menus were set aside she looked over at him, reaching across the table for his hand. “So, since Moran hasn’t given you instructions yet and I seem to have you all to myself, do you think we can explore today?”

He nodded, running his thumb over her knuckles. “I suppose a day of being a tourist would be good. If nothing else we can get a lay of the land,” he said. He watched the smile on her face get as wide as he had seen when she was truly happy, and he felt himself grinning in return. There was a lot about this situation that was inconvenient, a lot that could go wrong, but at least now, at this moment, things were all right. Hopefully there would be more moments like this then there would be bad moments.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the things I'm having Sherlock teach Molly about German I got from [this page](http://www.transparent.com/learn-german/phrases.html) and [this page](http://www.fluentu.com/german/blog/common-useful-german-travel-phrases-vocabulary-words/).

The second full day they were in Vienna he had managed to sleep in a bit more than he had the other days, and so had Molly. He had still woken up first, and he stayed close for a time before slipping out of bed to begin to make breakfast for them. There were some dietary differences between the English and the Viennese, as Molly had started to discover the more they had been out and about the day before, but they had managed to find markets that had food that appealed to them for them to stock their kitchenette well enough for now, and the concierge had had more options for them to try later today. And he assumed that as long as he had the ingredients for pancakes and a simple fruit syrup, nothing could go wrong with that. Molly had been surprised to know he could cook but he’d had to go undercover a few times where cooking was a necessity so he had picked up a few skills.

After getting breakfast for her taken care of he found a tray and carried it all to the bedroom, just in time to catch her beginning to stir. She smiled as she sat up. “I just realized you weren’t in bed,” she said.

“I thought you might appreciate a homemade breakfast in bed,” he said, setting the tray on the nightstand.

“Pancakes with blackberry syrup,” she said, her smile widening. “You really didn’t need to, Sherlock.”

“Well, I thought the gesture would be well appreciated,” he said, finding himself warming slightly.

“It is. Very much,” she said, gesturing for him to lean forward more. He did, and she kissed him softly. When she was done he pulled away. “Did you make any for you?”

He shook his head. “I ate the ones that didn’t turn out well, though,” he said. “Though one of the cups of coffee is for me.”

She nodded, and then sat up even more and waited for him to take his coffee before taking hers off the tray and setting it on the nightstand. Then she put the tray on her lap and picked up the cutlery before beginning to cut into the pancakes. “I suppose we should get a bit more food, and I should start figuring out the language and the currency,” she said before taking a bite and moaning softly. “These are good.”

He grinned at her delight. “I can help with both, but the currency is not going to be as much of a problem as we’ll most likely be using credit cards for everything.”

“Well, possibly not _everything_ ,” she said. “I mean, there may be a few things we use paper money for?”

He tilted his head back and forth for a moment. “I suppose,” he said. “But let’s start with the language first. What do you feel is most important to know?”

She thought for a moment. “What’s the word for the loo?” she asked.

His grin got wider. “ _das Klo_ ,” he said. “But if you want to ask someone where the lavatory is, you say ‘ _Wo ist die Toilette?_ ’ You can specify women's if you want with _Damen_ or _Frauen_ , but unless you’re in disguise, most people will realize you’re asking for a women's one.”

She nodded. “What else would you recommend I know?” she asked.

“There’s quite a bit,” he said after a moment’s thought. “I think we’ll have to pick up a German-English dictionary of some sort for you. But I suppose the basics would be a start. For example, ‘ _Guten Morgen_ ’ is ‘ _Good morning,_ ’ _Guten Tag_ ’ is ‘ _Good day,_ ’ ‘ _Guten Abend_ ’ is ‘ _Good evening_ ’ and ‘ _Gute Nacht_ ’ is ‘ _Good night._ ’ Hello is much the same as it is in English, as it’s ‘ _Hallo._ ’ If somebody asks you ‘ _Wie heißen Sie?_ ’ they’re asking you what your name is, and so you’d reply ‘ _Ich heiße Molly._ ’” He thought for a moment. “I suppose a few things you might need to know how to say are ‘ _Sprechen Sie Englisch?_ ,’ ‘ _Spricht hier jemand Englisch?_ ,’ ‘ _Können Sie langsamer sprechen?_ ,’ ‘ _Können Sie das bitte wiederholen?_ ,’ ‘ _Können Sie das übersetzen?_ ,’‘ _Ich spreche nur ein klein wenig Deutsch_ ,’ ‘ _Ich verstehe nicht_ ’ and ‘ _Entschuldigen Sie mein schlechtes Deutsch._ ’”

She shook her head. “That’s so much, Sherlock. What all did you say?”

“Just for the last bit, you’re asking ‘ _Do you speak English?_ ,’ ‘ _Does anyone here speak English?_ ,’ ‘ _Can you speak more slowly?_ ,’ ‘ _Can you repeat that please?_ ’ and ‘ _Can you translate that please?_ ’ for the first five questions, and then saying ‘ _I only speak a little German_ ,’ ‘ _I don't understand_ ’ and ‘ _Excuse my poor German_.’” He paused then. “If you get flustered, you may want to say the last one a bit. That may entice people to switch to English if they can, if they see you’re struggling.”

“I get the feeling I’ll struggle quite a bit,” she said, leaning back against the pillows more. “You speak it beautifully, though.”

“I had a violin instructor who was Austrian,” he said. “She learned I had an aptitude for languages so she taught me from an early age. I kept up with it over the years. I know a few different regional variations, so I speak it better than most people not from this part of the country.” He had a sip of his coffee. “The dictionary will definitely come in handy for you, I think. We’ll see about getting something for you today. But I will continue to help you learn the basics as I can.”

“With proper rewards?” she asked with a smile before she had more of her pancakes.

“That can be arranged, I suppose,” he said with a widening grin of his own. He had the feeling the time was going to be soon upon them when their relationship was going to move to another level of intimacy. He wasn’t entirely sure if he was ready for it just yet, even though he _wanted_ to be, very much so. Sleeping next to her and kissing her made him wonder what it would be like to be more intimately acquainted with her. But he wanted to be sure that their relationship could withstand things that might be thrown at them, whether it was from Moran or his brother or her Majesty or even from each other before they took that step. When he was sure of that, only then he would freely and willingly move forward.

No matter how much he wanted to beforehand.


	17. Chapter 17

They had spent another four days in Vienna with no word from Moran before he contacted Sherlock. Molly was still asleep when his mobile rang, and he saw it was the same number that had called when Moran had left the invitation to the dinner party when he had had his mobile off when he was in Scotland. He eased himself out of bed so as not to wake Molly up and answered the call before he left the bedroom. “Moran,” he said quietly.

“Are you enjoying the accommodations?” Moran asked jovially.

“They are more than adequate,” Sherlock said.

“Excellent. I don’t think you’ll need to stay there for more than a month, but it was best if you weren’t relying on room service and restaurants all the time. Molly deserves some comforts of home, even if she can’t be at home.”

Sherlock bristled at the blasé use of Molly’s name on Moran’s lips, but he settled himself before speaking. “Yes, she does,” he said. “Why did you send me here?”

“I know you’ve been to Vienna before, when you were dismantling the more problematic aspects of Jim’s organization,” Moran said. “There are factions in the city who are still absurdly loyal to him and are not taking well to the conversion of being a legitimate organization. I want them...flushed out.”

“So I’m to be your muscle,” Sherlock said flatly.

“No. You’re to ferret them out and give me names, and then find out their weak points,” he said. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

Sherlock was quiet for a moment. This was to be what he was used for, then. His deductive skills were to be used to gather information for Moran to forcibly change his organization over, the methods of which he was not to be privy to. This did not sit as well with him as he had thought it would. Before it might have. He would have done whatever needed to be done for the case, put whoever needed to be put in the way in the way, whether it put them in harm’s way or not, so long as they were not someone he cared for.

Somewhere along the way, he had grown a conscience.

But he had to do this, he supposed. His brother needed him to ferret out his own secrets. If these people were opposing what Moriarty was doing, he could learn things _from_ them just as much as he could learn things _about_ them. It may not sit well on his conscience, but he would do what he needed to, do what his brother had ordered him to, what Queen and country had commanded him to. “Very well,” he said.

“I will send an email address to you via text that you’ll send encrypted emails to with daily updates,” Moran said. “When you’re done, I’ll have a new assignment for you, and I’ll make sure you’re well compensated for your time and troubles, aside from the protection I’m extending to those you hold close.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock murmured. He didn’t care about the money. He’d offer to give it to Molly or back to the government. He didn’t really want any of it, to be honest.

“I will hear from you soon, then,” Moran said, and then the connection ended in his ear.

Sherlock lowered his mobile as he heard movement from the bedroom, and when he looked in the direction of the doorway he saw Molly emerging. She looked a bit concerned, and he realized she must have overheard part of the conversation. “Your brother?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Moran,” he said, tossing his mobile onto the sofa cushion. He ran a hand over his face. “He wants me to ferret out which associates are still loyal to Moriarty and give him the names, then find their weak points so he can put pressure on them. I don’t know what types of pressure.”

She made a face. “That’s abominable,” she said.

“I’ll be no better than the rest of them by the time this is over, but I suppose I can at least try and use my sources to get information on these people as well and the types of things that they’re into before Moran makes his move to legitimize the organization. Just because _he_ wants to doesn’t mean _they_ will want to.” 

Molly moved over to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek into his chest. It felt good to have her comfort him, he realized. It felt good to know that, at least for now, he wasn’t going to be walking this road alone. He put his arms around her and rested his chin on top of her head. “He’s a bastard,” she said, her voice muffled slightly because her lips were pressed into the fabric of his shirt.

“Yes, he is,” Sherlock said. “Unfortunately, however, I need to dance to his tune for a time.” He rubbed her back slightly. “I do not know how much time this will take, or how often I will be able to accompany you on your explorations of Vienna. And unfortunately, I do not think it will be wise for you to go out too often by yourself. But I will make time for you, I swear. I don’t think you should have to be cooped up here in what would become a luxurious prison.”

She nodded just slightly. “I’ll do whatever you need me to,” she said. After a moment, she pulled her head away to look up at him. “Do you need to start right away? I mean, it will take time to arrange to talk to your contacts, right?”

He nodded. “Yes,” he said. 

“Then let’s go out today and play tourist. Wherever you want to go, whatever you want to do, that’s what we’ll do.” She leaned forward slightly and rested her chin on his chest. “Whatever it takes for you to get your mind off things today.” 

“Perhaps the House of Music?” he suggested. “When I was here last time, I would go there to relax. To feel...” He found himself at a loss for words. He wasn’t sure how to describe how he felt going into the historical palace of Archduke Karl in the old city center and immersing himself not only in the sound of music but in his other senses, seeing and feeling the different things there. But Molly seemed to understood as she nodded just slightly before moving her cheek back against his chest. “Thank you,” he said, ducking his head to press a kiss to the top of hers.

“You’re welcome,” she said, tightening her hold on him. He had the feeling the situation was going to get worse before it got better, that the game he was ensnared in was more dangerous than anyone could have imagined it was, and while he knew Molly would be safer back in England he was glad she was there because it was going to be good to have someone there to remind him that he was not one of the people he was trying to stop. He had the feeling he would need her more than ever in the days to come. 

He just hoped that she would choose to stay if things went as gravely wrong as they could.


	18. Chapter 18

It took nearly a week to search out his contacts in Vienna and the outlying areas to begin doing what Moran wanted him to do. He was trying to be as discrete as possible about what his intentions were; if his contacts knew he was working _for_ Moran and therefore Moriarty’s organization, they would shrivel up, and it could incite a domino effect among many more of his contacts. He had to be extremely careful how he went about things, and the fact that Moran wanted daily updates when there were none to give because he was being so careful was extremely frustrating.

He and Molly had gone out to walk around the MuseumsQuartier, enjoying the various sights there. He had let her lead the way, pulling him wherever she fancied, his mind half there and half on how to extricate himself from the problem of possibly losing his contacts if his true connections came to light. Eventually, Molly realized he wasn’t enjoying the sights with her and soon was heading back to the car they had rented.

“I’m sorry I spoiled your day,” he said when they approached it.

She turned to face him, leaning against the car and pulling him towards her. “You just seem so lost in thought, Sherlock. Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on in that mind of yours.”

He settled his hands on her waist and then looked down at her. “When I begin collecting information on the people that Moran wants and he begins forcibly making them a part of his new organization, it will become obvious the information I collected was used to ramrod them into accepting his vision. Therefore, my contacts will know I’m one of his sycophants, and they will no longer trust me.”

She reached up, playing with the scarf around his neck. “Do you have to use your contacts?” she asked.

“They’ll make it easier,” he replied.

“But would it be impossible if you didn’t use them?”

He looked over at her. “Harder, but not impossible.”

“Well, you have me to help,” she said. “I may not know German, but I’m good with a camera and I blend in rather well. And I’m very good with technology so I could always record things for you to translate later if your brother could provide equipment? I’m sure if there’s a budget for James Bond types to afford our lodgings there’s a budget for gadgets.”

A smile started to spread on his face. “And I can use my contacts to help Mycroft and ferret off the information to my brother as opposed to Moran.”

“A most excellent idea,” Molly said with a smile of her own.

He leaned down and gave her a soft but lingering kiss. He hadn’t wanted to involve her in this any more than he needed to, but here she was, volunteering to help, to make it easier for him should these contacts be needed later. With her help, he could play both sides as he had been told to by his brother and get the information Mycroft needed before Moran stepped in and ramrodded those who were disloyal to him into loyalty. If there was anything sinister or suspicious to Moran’s claim of legitimizing the organization, he may be able to find out without Moran ever knowing. “You are a genius in your own right, you know,” he murmured when he pulled away from the kiss.

“I may have been influenced by one of the best,” she said, grasping his scarf more to keep him close. “But I want to help how I can. I don’t want to just be on the sidelines. I’m already involved...I might as well be all the way involved.”

He nodded slightly. “Then if that’s the case, when we get back to the room, we’ll keep working on those Krav Maga lessons I know you started taking after my fall,” he said. “And I will find a way for you to be armed with something to defend yourself.” He knew that Molly, of all people, could very well take care of herself, as she had made it a point to learn when she learned just how dangerous the game Moriarty had ensnared them all in was, but any extra precautions wouldn’t hurt. He cared greatly about her.

No.

No, if he was to be truly honest with himself, he knew by now he loved her. He had loved her for a long time. He had loved her and squashed it down to friendship and even as they began this relationship let it amount to caring. But he did love her. She had wormed her way into his life in a way no one else had, not even John or Mary or Lestrade, and she was firmly in his heart and in his head and he never wanted her to leave. He wanted her to stay by his side no matter what. It seemed irrational, but he knew that that was what love was: an irrational feeling in the face of logic. And he didn’t care.

He loved Molly Hooper, and he wanted her to stay safe so she could stay with him. And, in turn, he would do everything to keep himself safe so he could stay by her side, whether she loved him in return or not.

He pulled away and they both got settled into the car, but he did not start it yet, instead pulling out his mobile and dialing his brother’s number. Mycroft answered on the second ring. “Yes, brother mine?”

“I need a few things from you, Mycroft. I have a plan on how to use my contacts here in Vienna to their maximum potential and still give Moran what he wants. Molly is helping.”

There was a pause. “How exactly is she helping?” Mycroft asked cautiously.

“She will be assisting me in surveillance and information gathering. I need equipment and I need items for her and my protection.”

“I see,” Mycroft said with a sigh. “Very well. They will be sent to you shortly.” There was another pause. “Do be careful. Don’t get in over your head, dear brother, for yours and Ms. Hooper’s sakes.”

Sherlock scowled slightly even though his brother couldn’t see it. “We’ll be fine. Just get us everything I’m going to email you.” He turned to see Molly giving him a slightly hard look. “Err...thank you.” He hung up then, pleased to see Molly’s look had turned approving. “Now. Back to the penthouse?”

She nodded. “I think we have plans to make.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said, starting the car. “Yes, we do.”


	19. Chapter 19

The first few instances of information gathering had gone well enough. Molly did indeed blend in well, and she had a knack for being inconspicuous in areas where he would have stood out like a sore thumb. Even with the makeover she had received and the confidence she had gained over time, she still had the ability to pull the shroud of mousiness and timidity that she’d had when he had first worked with her over her like a cloak or a shield.

But it wasn’t always effective, and they learned that the hard way.

It had been a simple accident. The wrong person had bumped her, the recording equipment had fallen in front of a person with eagle eye vision who knew what it was, and there Molly had been put on the spot, almost roughed up and dragged away. But she was a good actress, able to think on the spot, and her laughably bad German had saved the day and she had managed to convince the target that she was recording simply to learn the language authentically. 

It had been close, and Sherlock had felt his heart stop as he debated whether to swoop in and pull her out and away to safety, say to hell with all of this and take her back to the hotel, get her things and send her back home. If they’d found the gun she had on her person he just might have. But once she was left alone he went to her and she leaned into him, shaking like a leaf.

Enough was enough. He knew she wanted to help, but he wasn’t going to have her put her life at risk. Not for him. He didn’t deserve it.

They got back to their apartment at the hotel and he went about making her tea the way she liked it and brought it to her. She was sitting on the sofa with a quilt around her shoulders in what had become her customary pyjamas: one of his shirts and a pair of sleep shorts. He was amused she insisted on sleeping in his shirts but she said she liked them more because they were comfortable while he argued cotton pyjamas obviously _had_ to be more comfortable because he slept in them and she simply stick her tongue out at him and that was the end of it. Even in this situation, it had been enough to make him forget there was danger, those moments when they would get ready for bed and then climb into the bed to sleep, him on his back and her curled up next to him, her head on his chest and an arm around his waist.

As much as it pained him, the idea of no longer having that to get him through, he still knew what he was about to suggest was the best idea.

“I think you should go back to London,” he said, giving her the tea and sitting next to her.

“No,” she said firmly. “I am not leaving you to do this alone. You are just... _no._ ”

“Molly, if they had found the gun, they would have taken you away and killed you,” he said.

“Then I won’t record people,” she said, setting the tea on the coffee table. “I’ll take photographs. I’ll find a way to translate. Hell, I’ll even just stay here and keep house while you do the reckless shite. Just don’t make me leave.”

“ _Why_?” he asked, shaking his head. 

“Because I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you and I didn’t know,” she said. “We started this together. We’ve been at this a good while now and it didn’t go according to plan at all but you need me. You need me more than you know. And I need you, Sherlock.”

He was surprised to hear her say that. For years all he had ever heard was how everyone needed him. Needed him to solve the case, needed him to stop the criminal, needed him to solve the problem. But when Molly said she needed him, he knew it was in an entirely different way. She didn’t need him to be the genius or the hero. She just needed _him._

He reached over and pulled her closer so she was half on his lap and half on the sofa. “Molly, if anything happened to you, I wouldn’t be able to bear it. It would break me,” he said quietly.

“I’ll stop helping,” she said, shifting so she could look at him, face to face. “Just don’t make me go. Please let me stay.”

He nodded slowly, because damn him, even though he knew she should go, he would cede to her wishes for his own selfish reasons. She leaned in then, kissing him softly, and he kissed her back just as gently. But soon it grew with a desperation he hadn’t realized he had felt. He needed her to _know_ that he loved her, even if he couldn’t say the words. That he would rather die himself than lose her. That she was more important to him that the task Moran had given him or the mission they were on and if all hell broke loose he would make sure she got out of this alive.

Soon his hands were sliding to the buttons of the shirt that she was wearing, shaking as he undid each one. He was no stranger to this but before it had a different meaning. Either it had meant nothing at all or it had meant something that he couldn’t explain entirely because the relationship hadn’t been something he could verbalize, but this he could easily explain. This was his way of saying “I am yours, and you are mine, whatever else happens.” And when her hands began to undo the buttons of his own shirt, he knew Molly understood that message, loud and clear.

Tonight was going to change things, but he was prepared for whatever it brought, as long as he could keep them both alive through it all.


	20. Chapter 20

They hadn’t bothered to move from the sofa, and he’d taken the quilt and draped it over them when she finally fell asleep, lying almost on top of him. He gathered her in his arms and held her, shutting his eyes and trying to sleep himself. He hadn’t felt a sense of peace like this in a long time, and he felt it was best to take advantage of it.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when his mobile began to ring. Molly stirred a bit but didn’t wake up, and he reached over to grope for where he’d set it on the table and answer it without looking at who was calling. “Hello?” he asked quietly.

There was a pause. “Trying not to wake the missus?” he heard Moran ask.

Sherlock scowled as Molly seemed to wake up, lifting her head up slightly. “Too late,” he said.

“That was a close call yesterday,” Moran said, his tone conversational. “I like Molly. You really shouldn’t put her in danger like that.”

“She volunteered,” Sherlock said flatly.

“Interesting,” Moran said. There was another pause. “Well, she won’t need to play the role of a spy where you’re going next.”

“So our time in Vienna is done?” Sherlock asked.

“I’ve gotten everything I need. You both have been quite thorough. And yesterday...well, let’s just say it made them a little wary. Probably not what was intended, but it works out well for me in the long run. But they’ll clam up and you’ll get nothing more there. Best to put you in a much more information rich place.”

“Where?”

“Washington DC. Time to play the game of politics, Holmes. Make good use of having a pretty and smart companion to weasel your way into the graces of the power players in the United States. You wouldn’t _believe_ how many of them are on Jim’s payroll.”

“Considering who the president is, I have no doubt it’s most of the city,” Sherlock said crossly. Then he paused. “What if Molly were to go back to London?”

“Sherlock...” Molly said quietly.

“Then she loses my protection which, after yesterday, you need more than ever,” Moran said. “Keep this in mind, Sherlock: when I have what I want, you’ll be off the leash and I’ll be out of your brother’s hair and we’re all happy. You just have to toe the line until then.” There was a click on the other end and Sherlock knew Moran had ended the call, and he pulled his mobile away and negligently tossed the phone back onto the table.

“You said you weren’t sending me home,” Molly said, sitting up more and holding the quilt to cover her bare chest.

“And I won’t unless there’s a good reason,” he said. “But I wanted to know if Moran would let it even be an option which, apparently, he won’t.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“If you go home, you lose the protection he’s extended, and he implied that what happened yesterday could have consequences.” He sat up so he was looking at her eye to eye. “I’d rather you have the bastard’s protection against anything I can’t protect you from myself. My brother can protect you only so well. If you’re with me--”

“I’m safe,” she said.

He nodded. “Safer than being stranded five thousand miles away from me with no protection.”

She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “We’re not five thousand miles from London.”

“We will be shortly. Our time here is done and our next destination is Washington DC. I have to play the game of politics with you by my side. My brother is going to be _thrilled_.” He ended the sentence on a sarcastic note.

“Well, he might _actually_ be thrilled if you can find some way to benefit him,” she said thoughtfully.

Sherlock gave a small grin and then leaned closer to her, pressing a kiss to her neck. “And why would I want to make Mycroft happy?”

“Because Mycroft picked me to be your fake girlfriend?” she said, shutting her eyes. “Which led to a confession of feelings, which led to kisses, which led to last night.”

“There was quite a bit more than a jump from kisses to last night,” he said, reaching to pull her closer. “I believe cohabitation fell in there, too.”

“I suppose,” she said.

He pulled away and looked at her, seeing the smile on her face but for a moment feeling quite serious. “Are you alright with the fact that this relationship has proceeded completely out of order?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“The whole of England presumed we were dating before I ever admitted I cared, and then we were living together before consummating our relationship, and--”

She cut him off with another kiss, letting the quilt drop to her waist as she pushed him back onto the sofa and he decided that it was better just to accept that some things would never make logical sense and their relationship was one of those things, and he should simply enjoy as much of it as he was given the privilege to enjoy.


	21. Chapter 21

It didn’t take long for them to arrange to get a room at the Four Seasons Hotel in Washington DC. and to begin the process of leaving the apartment they were occupying at the Palais Hansen Kempinski. Getting a flight out of Vienna to Washington, however, took a little more time, so he and Molly went out to do some shopping for things they might need in Washington. He had the feeling that, if he was going to have to rub elbows with the movers and shakers there, as Moran had seemed to imply he would, they might need to have a bit of an upgrade, and considering it would be an entire day before they could leave he took advantage of the time to make sure they would have some high-end items.

That evening he and Molly finally made it to a bed for a night of intimacy, but he did not sleep so much as simply hold her close and continuously run his fingers through her hair in a soothing motion. His mind was swimming with thoughts and he found sleep hard to come by, not succumbing until it was nearly dawn and therefore only getting a few scant hours before they had to gather up their things and leave the apartment for the last time.

He managed to get some sleep on the flight to Washington, and he was at least in a slightly better frame of mind when they arrived. He’d arranged for them to be picked up at the airport and driven to their hotel, and once they were checked into the Royal Suite there he watched Molly begin to unpack while he sat on the bed and dialed his brother to let him know he’d arrived.

“Yes, brother dear?” Mycroft said when he answered.

“We’re in Washington,” Sherlock said. “Moran hasn’t made contact yet, but I don’t doubt he knows we’ve arrived.”

“No doubt,” Mycroft replied. “Aside from playing politics, do you know what you’re to do there?”

“No idea,” Sherlock said, leaning so his back was on the mattress. “But I have more contacts here than I did in Vienna. I can do a little more discrete digging that Moran won’t be aware of.”

“Be careful,” Mycroft said. “Vienna was a slip-up. You don’t want another.”

Sherlock grit his teeth. “I know,” he said. Then he forced himself to relax. “While I’m here, is there anything you’d like me to do on your behalf?”

There was a pause on Mycroft’s end. “That depends on what you can do to turn those Moran is forcing to become legitimate to become legitimate on Her Majesty’s terms.”

“I’m listening,” Sherlock said.

“There are rumours the shake-up in Vienna has rippled. The fact is that the remnants of the organization know they’re being watched. They’re wary, but they’re also distrustful of Moriarty because they know that in Vienna, the ones being watched and recorded were the ones who _hadn’t_ capitulated. Perhaps with alternative enticement, if they are willing, they will become double agents, so to speak.”

“And the Queen approves of this?” Sherlock asked, surprised.

“Only for a select few, with secrets and resources we have need of. The Government will keep them on a tight enough leash, so long as they remain on Her Majesty’s good side. Cross the line, though, and the leash will become a noose.” He paused. “There may also be a few politicians willing to listen to reason left there. Not many, but the United State’s midterm elections are coming up and I know a few would like support from abroad.”

“Rigging the US elections?” Sherlock asked.

“Well, unfortunately, it didn’t work the last time so we have to try harder this time. Unlike the Russians, we’re much more covert.” Mycroft was quiet again. “If I can think of any more help you can give I will let you know. In the meantime, the arrangement still stands. Small secrets for exchange only, nothing too vital to national security and please, none of the things above your security clearance that Mrs. Watson may slip you for her own amusement.”

Sherlock grinned. “We’ll see.” He hung up on his brother, happy to get the last word in, and then pocketed his mobile as he sat up.

“Fruitful chat?” Molly asked, looking over from putting some of the fancy dresses she had gotten into the closet.

“Possibly. I have things my brother would like me to accomplish, at least, and a bit of rumour to chase down.” He moved over to her and kissed her cheek quickly. “I’ll be in the other room trying to see which of my contacts are still here and who’s willing to talk before Moran decides how he wants to abuse my services again.”

Molly nodded. “Should I bother trying to get you to eat?”

Sherlock thought for a moment and then shook his head. “I’ll make do with room service when I’m done. Whenever that is.”

“But you will eat?” she asked.

He moved to pull her in for a proper kiss before pulling away and nodding. “I will. I promise.”

“Alright,” she said. “I think I’ll make use of some of the bath products I was looking at. A long soak sounds good after the trip. And then maybe some sleep.”

“I’ll try not to wake you if I finish late in the evening,” he replied.

“Well, you can wake me up to tell me if it all worked out,” she said. “I want to know, even if I won’t be doing much here.”

“Then I will,” he replied before giving into temptation and stealing another kiss. He seemed to want to stay close now, steal kisses when he could, keep her close. Not that he hadn’t before, but there was more of an urge. But she didn’t seem to mind in the slightest, he realized as the kiss became quite a bit more heated. Perhaps it might be a bit until he made it to his mobile again and to his laptop, but this seemed just a bit more important at the moment.


	22. Chapter 22

Sherlock got his first nibble from his connections a few hours after their arrival, in the form of an encrypted email from “Chester,” a hacker he had made the acquaintance of years before the Moriarty mess. He was absolutely brilliant at finding any speck of information anywhere it could be hidden on the internet, even if most traces of it were scrubbed, and he had been a valuable help while taking down Moriarty’s organization. But the email he got was disturbing. It was just a few words, simply stating “Moriarty is a lie.” Sherlock stared at it, knowing there was no need to respond. When Chester was ready to talk to him, he’d make contact again.

Molly had taken a bath and a nap after their pleasurable interlude, but he had not joined her in slumber. Now, it seemed, she was awake for some reason and coming out to him, yawning. She was dressed simply in one of his shirts and a pair of knickers, and he had to admit, that was a sight that quite intrigued him. “Anything yet?” she asked.

“One email,” he said, setting his laptop aside. “With a curious message.”

“Oh?” she asked, going to pick up the menu for room service.

“’Moriarty is a lie,’” he replied. “It could mean anything. I need to wait to hear from Chester again to get more meaning to it, but I’ll have to wait for him to contact me. That is the way he operates.”

She nodded and then sat next to him on the sofa. “It doesn’t help to have it rattling around in your head while you have to work for that arsehole,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder and pushing the menu in front of him. “And you should eat.”

He nodded, taking the menu from her. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Well, a bit, but mostly I’m nervous,” she said. “It puts a damper on my appetite.”

Sherlock nodded. He could understand; while he generally didn’t eat during a case, this was different. Even though he needed to eat, he had very little in the way of an appetite. After a moment he set the menu down. “This is Washington DC. There should be twenty-four-hour places to feed any number of political people.”

“So we’re going out?” she asked, lifting her head up to look at him.

He nodded. “We’ll see what’s within walking distance and take a stroll,” he said. “Unfortunately that means you need to get dressed.”

“Well, then at least you’ll get to undress me later,” she said with a smirk before kissing his cheek and then getting up and heading into the bedroom. He watched her walk away, almost hungering for something else, but he knew food was something they both needed at this point. He instead turned to his abandoned laptop and looked for twenty-four-hour eateries nearby, settling on forgetting the stroll and heading to the DINER, as he felt that if Molly was nervous comfort food, even if it was American, would be welcome.

Eventually, she came out in denim trousers and a soft cobalt blue jumper, looking ready for a walk in the chilly evening. “So where are we headed?” she asked.

“A place called the DINER,” he said, moving his laptop off his lap and standing up. He had merely taken off his suit jacket and reached for where it was draped over the back of the sofa. “Comfort food, milkshakes, and a full bar.”

Molly’s eyes brightened at that. “I can’t wait.” She went for her coat while Sherlock went for his Belstaff, and then the two of them left their room. They walked hand in hand to the lift, and then took it down to the lobby. Sherlock made notes of where employee entrances were, just in case, before they made their way out to the street and a cab was hailed for them. 

He kept the conversation of neutral topics until they got to the restaurant, and when they got in and were seated he switched topics to the thought in his head. “What do you think Chester meant, that Moriarty is a lie?” he asked quietly.

Molly thought for a moment. “Perhaps the man you thought was James Moriarty really isn’t. I know you say there are no such things as twins, but how well do you really know Moriarty’s background? Maybe he had a brother or something.”

Sherlock nodded. He didn’t like acknowledging that thought had crossed his mind from time to time in his most wild thoughts, though he never dwelt on it. “I suppose I can ask Mycroft to look more deeply into his background,” he said. Sherlock looked at the menu in front of him, his eyes roaming over the sandwiches. “Perhaps it means more, though.”

“Like being connected to Moran’s scheme?” Molly asked.

Sherlock nodded. “We’ve had to take Moran at his word, but what if he’s lying. What if Moriarty _did_ kill himself on the roof and Moran’s invented a ghost?”

“I autopsied the man I knew as Jim,” Molly said quietly, causing him to look up. He had suspected that, perhaps, she might have been intimate with Moriarty. It didn’t bother him in any way, other than to feel worse that Moriarty had used her in his game. But this seemed a quiet confirmation that she did recognize the man who had used her to get to him was the same man who had died on the roof, the same man who had stood trial where he had testified, the same man who had stolen the Crown Jewels and blown up innocent people.

“Then let’s assume that this email was connected to the current game of spying Moran has had us do,” Sherlock said, wanting to move the conversation away from the man she had known. “Chester would be able to know what I was doing well before I contacted him. He tends to take an...omnipresent approach to those who he associates with.”

“So perhaps he’s trying to let you know Moran is lying?” Molly asked.

Sherlock nodded. “That’s what I’m thinking.” He settled on the NY strip steak from the section underneath as well as coffee and set his menu aside, waiting for Molly to do the same. When she did, he leaned forward slightly. “We’ll do as he says for as long as it benefits us, but if it’s true and Moriarty isn’t really alive and a threat, that changes things rather drastically.”

“You won’t send me home, will you?” she asked.

He reached over and took her hand, playing with her fingers. “Only if it will keep you safer,” he said. “I don’t want anything happening to you. But as long as it’s safer for you to be here, you’ll stay.”

She squeezed his hand and then turned as their waiter arrived to take their order. For now, he could concentrate on his dinner and his time with Molly, but he knew those four words were going to run in his mind throughout the evening, and he doubted he would sleep well tonight.


	23. Chapter 23

He was surprised Moran took so long to contact him, but the fact Moran left a message on his mobile indicating he wanted a face-to-face meeting was even more surprising. He had not expected Moran to be in the same place he was again, even for a short time, but perhaps the slip-up in Prague had shaken Moran’s confidence in how well he could do his tasks. He needed to fix that.

They met at Rock Creek Park, near a kiosk he had been directed to in the message. He had felt for sure that there would be whiskey involved and another pub, but this time it was simply coffees in hand as they walked. Sherlock knew they were not alone, but this time, at least, there was more privacy in their conversation.

“I imagine you’ve contacted your brother,” Moran said before taking a sip of his coffee.

“Mycroft has his fingers in many pies,” Sherlock said carefully, trying not to show any sign he was starting to have his doubts on the validity of Moran’s hold over him. “I wanted to be sure what I do for you doesn’t cause some of them to disappear or be thrown at his face.”

Moran nodded. “I doubt it will. The people I want you to meet would avoid your brother at all costs. Though it might amuse them that you’re working for me, however temporarily.” He gestured around them. “Open places like this are best. You never have any idea what’s lurking in the shadows, listening device wise.”

Sherlock nodded. He had to suppose that his room had been bugged if this conversation was any indication, so he and Molly needed to be careful what they talked about. “Any other advice?”

“Use Molly as decoration, not bait and not as an assistant,” he replied. “She’s worth more to you as someone who looks pretty and talks well here in DC than she would be gathering information for me.”

“And what information do you want me to get?” Sherlock asked.

“Information on things that could smooth my transition to being a man of reputable reputation again,” he said. “The problems in London were very bad. I need to have as sterling a reputation as...well, you, to get where I want to go with this transition.”

“Perhaps you want someone with a less tarnished reputation to choose to emulate,” Sherlock said. “I have killed, in both cold blood and self-defense, and there are a few that are aware of it in certain government reaches.”

Moran tilted his head, his lips pursed and then nodded. “I suppose you’re right. You are not the golden detective anymore, even with your reputation cleared, are you?” He stopped in his tracks to look at Sherlock. “Tell me, what would you kill for?”

“I’ve told you,” Sherlock said, lifting up his coffee to take a drink of it. “Those I hold dear.”

“Would you kill me even if it meant they were all in danger?” Moran asked.

Sherlock didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

Moran looked at him and then nodded. “We aren’t that different, then, I suppose.”

“No, we’re quite different,” Sherlock said. He tossed his coffee in the nearest rubbish bin. “You’re just too blind to see it.”

“Waste of a good coffee,” Moran said.

“Sherlock shrugged. “I don’t need coffee to work, but I do need to stop listening to your endless drivel.” He watched as Moran clenched his jaw. “Should you need me, I’ll be in my suite. But I’m sure you know all there is to know about that.” With that, he turned and started to walk away.

“I could kill you, you know,” Moran said, a tinge of anger in his voice.

“But you need me, so you won’t,” he said over his shoulder as he kept walking out of the park. These chats were not very conducive to Moran, he thought to himself. Somehow, Moran seemed to lose something by the end of them, while Sherlock usually gained something. And he had, indeed, gained something today.

He knew James Moriarty was well and truly dead because if he wasn’t, Moran _never_ would have threatened him with death a second time. Moriarty wouldn’t have allowed it in any way, shape or form. Even a faked death would have put Moran on Moriarty’s bad side. So, therefore, there was no threat of retribution of something were to happen to Sherlock, aside from whatever Mycroft would do. Moriarty was a ghost now.

The trick would be to prove it.


	24. Chapter 24

His first assignment was to attend a state dinner and speak to the assistant to a Congressman. Sherlock was sent an invitation to the event by delivery and told it was black tie. He was lucky he had thought to get a tuxedo while in Vienna, and Molly had gotten a nude dress with steel blue lace overlaid on it, decorated with beading at the hem and topped with cap sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. He had to admit, though, his favorite part of the dress was the slit up to her thigh. It didn’t show much skin, but as he watched her talk to others in attendance it was just enough to make him wish they were back at the suite.

Instead, he was stuck talking to a pompous arse who was so puffed up in his position he didn’t realize, essentially, Moran had his boss bought and paid for. He supposed Moran wanted to find out if the assistant should meet an end of some sort, and while he thought perhaps he should warn the man that his life could be ended if he didn’t stop strutting around like a peacock he wasn’t sure that would do Mycroft or him well in the end.

But this assistant would not be the one to poach from under Moran’s nose; no, _his_ assistant would be the one to get. She would know all the secrets of the assistant and the Congressman but she loathed the arsehole enough to turn on him with very little encouragement.

Thankfully Molly noticed he was most likely to lose his temper if he had to speak to the prat for another moment longer and she excused herself from her conversation to come to them. “Pardon me, but we haven’t danced yet,” she said to the assistant. “Would you be interested in taking me for a spin on the floor?”

The man’s eyes lit up and he went away with Molly, leaving Sherlock with the woman he could poach. By the time the song ended he had Mycroft a new mole and Molly only had a slight limp. She came over to Sherlock and then smiled at him, one that was overly bright. “My turn?” he asked.

Molly nodded. “Of course,” she replied. They moved away and they swept out onto the dance floor. Molly’s smile dropped after a moment. “Ugh. He was all hands and two left feet.”

“I’m sure I can do better,” he said, sweeping her into his arms and beginning to move her in time to the music.

“Since you haven’t stepped on my feet already you’re an improvement,” she said. She moved closer to rest her head on his shoulder. “How much longer do we need to stay?”

“Not much,” he replied. “I’ve turned the assistant’s assistant to Mycroft’s team. But I thought at least one dance would be worth having before we left.”

“Why are there so many people who make it hard to talk to the politicians directly?” she asked. 

“It’s the lure of power,” Sherlock said. “If you can get even a crumb of it, you can monetize it or turn it into a boon for your cause.”

“It’s disgusting,” Molly said.

“It’s not dissimilar to England,” Sherlock said. “Ask my brother. He has stories.”

“I might,” Molly said. They danced in silence for a few moments before she spoke again. “When we go home, can we do this, on occasion?”

“Sneak into state dinners and recruit for the Queen?” he teased.

“No, I mean...get dressed up like this and do something extravagant,” she asked.

“I don’t plan on keeping any of the money that I’m given for this task,” Sherlock said. I don’t think I can do extravagant often. But if you’d like to, I’ll try.”

She lifted her head up. “What do you want when we get home?” she asked, looking at him.

“You by my side, as often as possible,” he said in a soft, serious voice.

“I see no reason to deny you that,” she said with a smile, no longer dancing. “It’s what I want, too.”

He leaned in, heedless of who was paying attention to them. He wanted to kiss her, to show her that this moment was important to them, to him. Just as their lips were to meet, however, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He signed and let go of her, pulling out his mobile. It wasn’t a text alert, but rather an email. He opened it and saw it was from Chester. “ _Tomorrow. Alpha Base, early morning,_ ” it read.

“What is it?” Molly asked.

“Tomorrow we’ll find out what was meant by Chester’s first email,” he said, showing her the email. “Do you want to come with me?”

“Will he be alright with that?” she asked curiously.

“If he’s following my moves as I suspect he is, he knows you’re close to me and tied to my side,” he replied. “I’m sure he’s expecting you.”

“Alright then,” she said with a nod. Then she nodded towards the door. “Let’s go back to the suite. Early morning is going to come early.”

He nodded in return and then led her towards getting her wrap and his coat. Finally, some answers, he thought to himself. This could only be a good thing.


	25. Chapter 25

Sherlock knew Molly had a soothing presence to most people, so that was why he asked her to come with him to the meeting. He knew he had been rather adamant that he wasn’t going to involve her with this side of things anymore, but his contact had seemed so nervous that he thought having a calming presence couldn’t hurt. He normally was much more specific in times and places to meet. “Early morning” was vague enough to make him think Chester was spooked.

They made their way to a more suburban part of Washington, taking a cab there. Both of them remained quiet, and while he wasn’t sure what Molly was thinking of he felt a sense of anticipation at getting answers and breaking Moran’s hold over him and those he held close. But he could tell even before they opened the door to Chester’s “Alpha Base” they were too late. He let out a sigh. “Sloppy,” he muttered.

“Pardon?” Molly asked.

“Chester is dead,” Sherlock said. “And we need to leave as quickly as possible.” Chester had told him, should the worst ever happen, where to get anything he might need, and they needed to get there before anyone else did, lest he had been tortured into giving the location of where his drop box was. 

“What’s going on, Sherlock?” Molly asked as they quickly headed for the nearest MARTA stop.

“Chester was nervous. I have the feeling he was going to leave as soon as he talked to me. He miscalculated.” Sherlock made a note to make sure Mycroft contacted his American counterparts to handle the scene; there might be other data at the scene that could be pertinent to them. He knew for a fact anything worth anything to British intelligence was nowhere in the vicinity.

Whether it was at the drop box was another matter.

“Where are we headed?” she asked as he reached over to grasp her hand, slowing their pace. He had the feeling they were being trailed. This did not bode well.

“We were headed to a secure location via public transportation. Now we’re going to get a cab and head to the National Mall and walk around for a while. Maybe go to the Smithsonian for a bit. Anything in DC you’re interested in seeing?”

Molly stepped closer to him, grasping his hand tightly. “Art museums?” she suggested.

“We’ll go to one of those, too,” he said, reaching out to hail the first cab he spotted. He knew they’d be followed. And he was counting on it at the moment. He had spent a fair bit of time in Washington DC. dismantling Moriarty’s organization. There were more criminals of all sorts in this small area of the United States than one could possibly imagine, and Moriarty’s grip had been tight. He’d had to leave before he’d taken care of everything, but he had set up various drop boxes with contacts before he left for information to be shared. He would have to inform his contacts they would need to change them after today, but they would come in handy until he could be sure he and Molly were no longer being followed.

They began to go to various spots in Washington to do the typical tourist routine. Once again Molly proved what a tremendously good actress she was, and it almost pained him that this was not like Vienna, where they could not _actually_ enjoy what they were seeing like they had there. He held off on going to art galleries for that reason, instead focusing on various different branches of museums under the wing of The Smithsonian. He wanted to give her at least one experience in DC not tainted by all of this messy business.

When he could, he made sure to hit each drop box in the vicinity of where they were, spend time there like he was picking something up and dropping something off. Even when he felt they were no longer being followed he continued until darkness fell and he felt it was safe enough to go to the hotel again and deposit Molly before going to Chester’s drop box. 

He walked into the Four Seasons and escorted Molly to their room, made sure she was inside and the door was locked, and then he made his way down and towards the kitchen. He knew he would stick out but he also had access to enough money that he could make his presence there magically disappear if anyone asked about it. Once he was outside the hotel he got on public transportation to the twenty-four-hour postal mailbox center and found the one Chester preferred. Inside was a key for one of the package mailboxes, and he took the key and opened it, pulling out a box and leaving again, making his way back to the hotel.

He was rather surprised no one had bothered to stake out the back entrance of the hotel, and he mulled on that as he went back through that way to his room. In fact, it seemed as though Moran seemed rather short staffed. Anthea had said after the meeting at 21212 in Scotland that there had been maybe four of Moran’s men in the entire restaurant, and none of them were in the wait staff; one had been a cook and the others had been in the lounge. That had seemed rather reckless, especially when the one posing as a cook would have had to know Anthea was working for the British Government.

And as he mulled over his interactions with Moran in Vienna, he realized the majority of them had been delayed. When something had happened there had been some time between when an event had happened and when Moran had called to speak with him about it. It was almost as though whoever he had set on them in Vienna was unreliable. Or maybe there weren’t enough people for a continuous watch.

And obviously, Chester’s murder was sloppy. The fact it was obvious from the outside of his base that not only was Chester dead but that it also was an ordered hit was just reprehensible for a crime lord. Moriarty would have been embarrassed. Moran should have been, being an assassin himself. He knew if Moriarty had gone through with his plans of killing John, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson it would have been quick, efficient and nowhere _near_ as much a disaster, as Chester was dead and whatever information he had was, hopefully, safe under his arm.

He unlocked the door to his room and for just a moment was worried when he realized the telly was not on and Molly was nowhere to be seen, but then he heard water running and went to the bathroom. She was wearing one of the hotel’s bathrobes, testing the water running from the tap and adding a few things to the bath, and she turned when he cleared his throat. “Was it there?” she asked.

He held the box up and then moved to the sinks. She turned off the tap and moved to join him there. He reached for the sheath on his ankle and pulled out the knife he’d put there, and cut open the box. Inside was a small plastic baggie full of flash drives, each with a number written on it in black permanent marker, and stacks of manila folders. He pulled one out that said “Video” and opened it up. His eyes widened as he saw stills of Moriarty and Moran from what was obviously the filming of the “Miss me?” video, time-stamped from before his fall. “It was faked,” he said quietly.

Molly picked up another file and looked through it. “Sherlock, look,” she said, handing it to him after a moment.

He set down the folder he had taken and took the one she was handing him, marked “Surveillance.” Inside was various surveillance shots of Moran in different locations, meeting with the people Sherlock had been told to get information on, prior to Moriarty’s death. He flipped through the pictures and suddenly realized what was going on.

“He was never going to become legitimate,” Sherlock said, pulling out a photo of Moran and the man who had nearly assaulted Molly in Vienna when she had dropped the recorder. “Don’t you see? He was attempting to overtake the organization _before_ Moriarty killed himself on the roof. Once he was dead and I dismantled most of the organization, he decided to hold on to what he could and build it back up under a facade of legitimacy. But these members of the organization refused to fall back in line.” He tossed the file and photo back in the box. “And because he was still considered a threat to Queen and country but technically couldn’t be imprisoned again because of his status and the fact he’d made himself seen in public, and I had made the blunder of getting rid of Magnussen and throwing a cog in the works...”

“He used you to find their weaknesses,” Molly said as what he had realized dawned on her. “But how did he know you’d killed Magnussen?”

“He didn’t,” Sherlock said. “But he knew if he put himself in the public eye they couldn’t send a tactical team after him again while he was a sitting duck in a hotel room. It would have to be approached differently. And that meant a smart arse consulting detective who practically _bragged_ about what he had done if he got any ideas of hurting you.” He leaned his head back. “I would still be in this mess regardless, but it wouldn’t be so bad if I hadn’t opened my mouth about Magnussen.”

“You didn’t know,” Molly said gently, reaching over to caress his face. “You were just worried about me.”

“Still,” he said, lifting his head back up and being glad she didn’t pull her hand away. He reached for her and pulled her into an embrace, and she moved her hand to wrap her arms around his neck. “I just need to know for sure Moriarty is dead. That he won’t come after you. Then I’ll bring Moran down if--”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Molly said, cutting him off.

He nodded. “I’ll make sure you’re safe,” he said, pressing a kiss in her hair as he held her tight. If Moriarty was dead and they had just unraveled the whole plan, it was not nearly the masterstroke of genius Moran had made it out to be. It was full of holes and lucky coincidences and yes, even his own stupidity. But it also provided a way out and a way to wrap this all up and go home and get Moran out of everyone’s hair, once and for all.


	26. Chapter 26

He hadn’t called his brother to tell him there was a change in plans. He had simply texted him one word: _Jinkies._ Of the few mundane things Mycroft had a fondness for, the old Hannah Barberra cartoons featuring Scooby Doo and his crime solving friends had been among them, and he remembered a time when Mycroft would say “Jinkies” when he found a flaw in some plan of some sort. It was, to this day, one of the few pieces of code they still put into play.

His reply was a time and a location. He knew his brother would be there waiting and the place would be swept or all surveillance equipment. No one would see Mycroft enter and no one would see him leave, but they could safely configure a new plan there to bring Moran down, once and for all.

As the time ticked down to the meeting between Sherlock and his brother, he was rather surprised to get a second text, this one from Moran. _Jack Rose Dining Saloon. 3 PM. There’s a special bottle of Penn Maryland Deluxe Blended Bourbon with your name on it here._ , it read. He vacillated between replying and saying he had plans, or simply sending Molly along to meet with Mycroft and going to the meeting with Moran, and the latter plan won out. Molly could explain his deduction well enough until he was able to arrive, and a half hour before he was to meet with his brother he sent Molly on ahead, knowing by now there were safeguards at the meeting place in place, if Anthea wasn’t already there, while he went to meet with Moran.

It was eerily similar to their meeting in Scotland. The saloon itself wasn’t open yet, and there were men checking him at the door. This time, Moran wasn’t at the bar, instead sitting at one of the curved booths on the opposite side, with a bottle or bourbon in front of him and two glasses next to it. “Sherlock,” he said, his voice sounding welcoming but tinged with something else. Sherlock’s defenses were immediately up.

Sherlock nodded as he went closer to the booth. “Moran.”

“This is supposedly one of the top rated places in Washington to get whiskey. This bottle? It’s about seventy years old,” he said, lifting the bottle of bourbon off. “Cost me a small fortune. And the cigars...small comforts are expensive but worth it.” He watched Sherlock sit across from him and then poured some of the bourbon into the glasses. It appeared they had the two-ounce glasses and Moran was not sparing any space in the glass, filling it to the top. He gently eased one of the glasses across the tabletop to Sherlock and then lifted his up to have his shot. Sherlock did the same, appreciating the taste but doing his best to keep his eye on Moran. When he set his glass down he looked at Sherlock. “Poor Chester.”

“Obviously you didn’t do the job yourself,” Sherlock said.

“No,” Moran said. “I’ve moved on from that. I suppose I should give lessons. Good workers are hard to find these days.” He tilted his head. “What did he have to say?”

“Nothing you don’t already know,” Sherlock replied. He could play this game with Moran, easily. He knew full well Moran wouldn’t kill him. Hurt him, maybe, but not kill. That would bring forces upon him he was in no way ready for. But he could bluff as well as Moran could and end this game in a stalemate, walk away and perhaps bring new news to Mycroft by observing things Moran _couldn’t_ control.

Moran’s jaw twitched. “You think you’re so clever,” he said, his voice annoyed. “Jim thought you were smart. I think you’re just a smart-arse.”

“As do most people,” Sherlock said with a shrug. “These days, at least. Moriarty did a good job ruining my reputation in some parts of England.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Moran said, grinning slightly. “I’ll do better, though. Jim said he’d burn out your heart. I’ll just break it.” He made a motion with his hand and the last thing Sherlock saw before the crack to his head and everything going black was Moran pouring himself another drink, a pleased look on his face, and his last thought was Molly was in danger…

...and there was nothing he could do about it.


	27. Chapter 27

He wasn’t in the pub when he came to. He felt his head ringing and felt ill, but panic ripped through him until he felt a hand shove him back down. On a bed?

It took him a moment to realize he was in a different suite, but on a bed, and Mycroft and Anthea were there. “Molly!” he said.

“Moran took her,” Mycroft said quietly. “Personally. My agents that I had surveilling you both were murdered in cold blood and Molly was taken on her way to the meeting place.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Sherlock said, sinking back into the pillows.

“If you do, Sherlock, I can’t get you out of trouble this time,” Mycroft said. “Unless he’s killed in self-defense. I’m sure that can be arranged, should it be needed.”

Sherlock opened an eye to look at his brother. Mycroft might appear to have no feelings, and he wasn’t exactly Sherlock’s biggest fan, but he took the health and well-being of those under his employ seriously. The blatant murder of his agents had most likely enraged him. Perhaps Molly’s kidnapping as well had pushed him towards thinking murderous thoughts himself.

Anthea cleared her throat. “You have a concussion, Sherlock. You’re not doing _anything_ for a while. But we’re collecting information.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, turning to look at her.

“Moran disappeared without a trace,” she said. “We’re sure he’ll pop up again, but...”

“Was Molly hurt?” he asked.

“According to the surveillance we have, no,” Mycroft said from his position. “Just spooked.”

“He won’t hurt her,” Sherlock said. “Moran has a soft spot for Molly. As long as she’s useful, she’ll be safe. Probably even treated with great consideration. But the minute she becomes useless...” He didn’t want to finish the thought.

“He’ll dispose of her,” Mycroft said, voicing what Sherlock didn’t want voicing.

“Yes,” Sherlock replied through gritted teeth. He shut his eyes again. “He needs to be found. She needs to stay safe. I can’t lose her.”

There was silence for a long moment. “Andrea, please excuse us,” he heard Mycroft say. There was another pause, punctuated by the sound of a door opening and closing before Mycroft spoke again. “You have fallen for her, brother dear.”

“Obvious, isn’t it?” Sherlock snapped.

“Yes,” Mycroft said. “Fortunately.” Sherlock opened his eyes again and gave his brother a strange look. “I will admit, I knew this was a possibility. I knew that when you barged into my office and demand Molly be taken off of this mission and Andrea be put on it. But I didn’t realize how deeply your feelings ran.” He paused again. “Have you told her?”

“That I love her?” Sherlock asked. Mycroft nodded. “No.”

Mycroft looked away from his brother. “I will ensure you are given the opportunity to rectify that.”

“What about your incessant needling about goldfish?” Sherlock asked, not in an accusatory tone, but in a curious one.

“You have spent so long with no real connections,” Mycroft said. “That’s my fault too, unfortunately. I groomed you to be this way. And, perhaps, I’m recognizing that folly in my own life. I have seen what caring for Miss Hooper has done for you. Perhaps I have taken a lesson from that.”

Sherlock nodded just slightly but didn’t reply. It was good his brother realized a life alone was not worth having, but all he cared about was Molly’s safe return. Before he could voice any opinion, however, his mobile began to ring. He reached over from where it was on the nightstand next to him and saw it was Moran. “It’s him.”

“Answer it,” Mycroft said.

Sherlock sat up with minimal difficulty and answered the phone. “Where is she?” he asked.

“Safe,” Moran said. “And she’ll stay that way as long as you behave.”

“You’ve been trying to take over the organization since before Moriarty was in the ground,” Sherlock said.

“So you know my dirty little secret,” Moran said, his tone snide. “I still have what you care for most in the world, Sherlock. Do what I tell you to do to the letter and she lives. Don’t, and I’ll cut out her heart and send it to you.”

“What do you want me to do?” Sherlock asked.

“Send your brother and his assistant back home, first. From now on no contact with anyone you knew. Not your brother, not John Watson, and not his very interesting wife. You do this alone, or Molly dies.”

Sherlock nodded, though he wasn’t seen. “And then?”

“Stay put in Washington. I’ll tell you what to do next.” 

The connection ended and Sherlock looked over at Mycroft. “He wants me to dismiss you and Andrea and wait for further instructions.”

“I doubt he’ll be happy when you turn up on his doorstep instead,” Mycroft said, crossing his hands. “I’m sure that was enough to trace the approximate location of that simpering prat.”

Sherlock gave Mycroft a slight smile. Yes, taking the issue directly to Moran sounded much better than sitting and waiting. “So, I have your full cooperation?”

“Of course,” Mycroft said, inclining his head as the door opened again. He turned, as did Sherlock, and they looked at Anthea. “Well?”

“Scotland,” she said. “An old, familiar place.”

“Let’s go,” Sherlock said, moving to swing his feet over his bedside. 

“Rest first,” Mycroft said. “You had a nasty blow to the head and there may be repercussions from it. Andrea and I will arrange matters.” He stood up and made his way to his assistant before they both left the room. Sherlock sank back into the bed, knowing it wasn’t best to go to sleep but resting...he’d do that as best he could. Right now he just wanted Molly safe, whatever it took.

Then he’d make that bastard pay, up to and including with his own life.


	28. Chapter 28

It didn’t take long for plans to be made and arrangements started for Sherlock and Andrea to go to the home Moran had used for the dinner party. The flight back to Scotland had taken far longer, and Sherlock had felt restless the entire time. Once they landed they started to drive into the countryside, knowing the teams would already be in place. And now that he was there, he knew that tactical teams were a few words away and Molly was almost safe. All he or Anthea had to do was say one single phrase and the tactical teams would sweep in and take care of any troubles they had. And Sherlock knew in his head this team had been handpicked by her and vetted by his brother.

But he would be damned if he would call them in before Molly was free and clear of the house. Having her kidnapped had been akin to his worst fear coming true; having her die would be it in full glaring detail. He wasn’t going to risk her life to capture the bastard.

Especially when he had his own plans.

If Moran had thought the conversation they’d had in the bar in Scotland when his assignment had been put out towards him had been a bluff, that he wouldn’t _really_ gut him like a day old fish and watch as the life faded out of his eyes for harming Molly, it was only because Mycroft needed him alive, preferably. Otherwise, he would gladly do exactly that to him tonight. He’d just have to settle for beating the living shite out of Moran. After all, Mycroft had said leave him alive.

He didn’t say leave him in a state that didn’t require traction.

He looked over at Anthea to make sure she was set. He would be going in through the front door, as Moran was expecting him; she would be finding an alternate route. Her time posing as the driver had given her time to do some discrete poking around the last time they were there and she had managed to find a few potential points of entry that would get her to Molly the fastest. She knew where Molly was because as soon as he had gotten the invitation discrete surveillance had been done. When Moran’s lies had unraveled it was obvious he did not have half the resources Mycroft had at hand, which put them at an advantage.

They were about to make that advantage work to their benefit.

Sherlock gave Anthea plenty of time to get to her entry spot before making his way to the door. If Anthea could already be inside and beginning to extract Molly from the second-floor room where she was being held, then that meant there was less time Sherlock needed to bluff and more time he could show Moran just how wrong a decision it was to kidnap Molly. Tonight he knew there would be no staff inside. No, Moriarty had been one for flash and drama and Moran was just the same. If there was to be a final showdown, just like there had been on the roof with Moriarty, it would be between the two of them.

The door was unlocked and he made his way inside. He assumed he was being watched, and therefore he followed the path of lighted hallways till he got to the garden entrance. He should have assumed that much; as soon as it was apparent Sherlock was _not_ going to follow instructions he knew that it would come down to a confrontation, and since Moran had made his real first bid for Sherlock’s involvement in the garden that would be where they would have their final confrontation. It was better lit than it had been last time and he could easily see Moran standing there, the smoke from his cigar wafting in the air. “I was never going to hurt her,” Moran said without turning around. “I actually like Molly. I can see why Jim was fond of her, why he didn’t want her targeted. She would have walked out of here safe and sound.”

“You still took her,” Sherlock said.

“You poked your nose where it didn’t belong,” Moran said. He turned and Sherlock saw he had his mobile out. “Your friend is rather close to Molly’s room. Don’t worry, I won’t stop her. Let’s wait until Molly’s out of harm’s way, shall we? Wouldn’t want her to see the mess we’re going to make.”

Sherlock nodded. The two men waited in silence until he heard a slight crackle in his ear, and then Anthea said “She’s clear.” He knew his next step was supposed to be to give the word to bring the team in t capture Moran, but there was more to be said. And, as Moran said, there was a mess to be made.

Sherlock took the earpiece out of his ear and tossed it aside. “I should gut you like a fish and watch you try and stuff your intestines back inside.”

“But you won’t,” Moran said, smirking a bit as he pocketed his mobile.

“Unfortunately my brother has need of you. And this time, I doubt you’ll get out.”

Moran huffed out a laugh and then took a puff of his cigar. “You underestimate my connections.”

“What connections?” Sherlock asked. “James Moriarty is dead. You’re trying to tie together what’s left of his organization with sheer force of will. The organization _I_ decimated, by the way.” He stepped closer. “They all know Moriarty is dead now. They know the video was a hoax, perpetrated by you, to try and scare them into submission.”

Moran’s eyes widened slightly but other than that he showed no reaction. “And you know this…?”

“You should never have sent me to Washington,” he replied. “Not when I had the British government behind me. You could offer some people some things if they swayed to your side, but Her Majesty can offer so much more. People were quite happy to spill the beans. And you simply confirmed it, first in the bar and then in your ill-conceived measure to take the one thing in the world that means the most to me away to get my attention. You tried to hurt me, Moran, so I _ruined_ you.”

Moran clamped his teeth on the cigar, his eyes hardening. “You have always been a bloody bastard,” he said through his clenched teeth before removing the cigar and tossing it to the ground.

“And you’ll always fail at being second best,” Sherlock replied.

That seemed to be the straw that broke the camel’s back as Moran rushed at him, trying to land a punch at Sherlock’s midsection to knock the wind out of him. Sherlock managed to dodge and tried to land a punch of his own towards Moran’s face but Moran recovered quickly and ducked down, sweeping a leg to knock Sherlock off his feet. Sherlock stumbled and nearly fell but caught hold of a nearby statue and regained his balance, but not before Moran got a punch into his side.

Sherlock took in a pained breath and when Moran went to aim another hit at him Sherlock moved just before it landed and Moran hit the statue instead, howling in pain from unexpectedly hitting stone. Sherlock took the moment of surprise to begin hitting where he could, each hit precise, each hit hitting a certain part of Moran’s body to inflict pain and incapacitate him. Kidneys, the back of his knees, the groin…

Eventually, Moran was on the ground and _then_ Sherlock unleashed his rage, not caring for precision anymore and just hitting to hurt. He didn’t care about his own injuries so long as he made Moran hurt even more. Soon enough Moran stopped trying to defend himself, and Sherlock realized the blood on Moran’s suit was coming from his knuckles, not Moran. He stood up, taking a few long deep breaths, and began to walk towards where he’d tossed the earpiece. “The rubbish is ready for removal,” he said, signaling the tactical teams.

And then he heard the telltale crack of a gunshot, felt a searing pain in his arm followed by heat, and a sudden onset of lightheadedness. His last coherent thought was that this wasn’t how it was supposed to have been…

And then nothing for some time.

When he woke up again there was a bright light. Not a hospital room, but one of the rooms in the home. He was in a bed in one of the bedrooms, and he wasn’t alone. He also wasn’t wearing a shirt but his companion was fully clothed and fussing over him. When she realized he was awake, she gave him a glare.

“Anthea said you’ve had nothing but coffee since I got taken,” Molly said. “You, Sherlock, are an idiot. How could you not eat before you came to rescue me! You could have fainted before you beat the piss out of that bastard and then where would you be? Dead. You’d be dead and I’d be alone and...” She looked at his arm, which he just realized was bandaged and put in a sling of some sort as tears were in her eyes. “Eat more next time.”

“No next times,” he said with as much force as he could muster. He reached over and motioned for her to lie down next to him. The sooner they left and went somewhere, _anywhere_ else, the happier he would be, but for now, he just wanted her close. “No more next times, I promise.”

“Good,” she said. She leaned over and kissed his forehead and then settled in next to him, head on his chest, and he relaxed. She was safe, Moran was not a problem anymore and he was still alive. All in all, it had ended as well as he had hoped it would...more or less.


	29. Chapter 29

_Seven Months Later_

“It’s too tight.”

“Sherlock, it’s a tie.”

“It’s a noose.”

“It’s a _tie_. You’re going to be in front of Her Majesty, for heaven’s sake. You can’t show up with the top button undone like you usually do.”

“The last time I was in Buckingham Palace, I was in a sheet. Why should I bother wearing a tie?”

Molly stood in front of him and swatted his hand away while he tried to undo the tie. “Because you are going to become _Sir_ William Sherlock Scott Holmes and you’re going to wear a bloody tie because I will not be embarrassed in front of the Queen, that’s why.”

He blinked and then sighed, letting her adjust the tie. After a moment he had to admit it no longer felt like a noose, which he was grateful for, but he still didn’t see the need for all the fuss. Moran was in the deepest darkest pit of a prison, the criminal empire was _finally_ in ruins with no chance of reassembly and he had his execution of Magnussen no longer held over his head. So not only were John, Mary and their daughter safe and free and clear of the threats that Magnussen had posed but he was clear of any further threats of having to leave the country to pay his penance.

Which was good, considering he had his own family to worry about.

Molly turned away and he embraced her from behind, setting his chin carefully on top of her head and placing his hands on her very visibly pregnant belly. Apparently, the fact they hadn’t been at all careful in Prague had led to her becoming pregnant with his son, something that half-terrified and half-satisfied him. Marriage was something they were still considering, much to his mother’s consternation, but he knew whether they were legally bound or not Molly would remain by his side with him and their child. He had no fear she would leave, and no fear he would bolt and leave them.

“I promise I will not embarrass you in front of the Queen,” he said. “I mean, you’re getting your own recognition.”

“Exactly,” she said with a nod. “Which I owe to your brother I suppose, but still.” She paused and got a thoughtful look on her face. “I suppose eventually I’ll have to be Dame Molly Holmes.”

“How long is it going to be until this ‘eventually’ happens?” he asked, surprised she had brought it up.

“Whenever you get around to making a proposal and presenting me with a ring, regardless of whether I can wear it, I suppose.” She turned and smiled at him before kissing her cheek. “We should hurry. Mycroft might get knighted before you if we’re late. You know he’ll gloat.” She left the room and he felt a smile widen on his face. First, he had to get through all of this blasted pomp and ceremony, but then he could concentrate on what was _truly_ important: showing the love of his life and mother of his child just how much he wanted her to stay by his side until death did they part.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for Do You Want to Be with Somebody Like Me?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11921355) by [patriciatepes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/patriciatepes/pseuds/patriciatepes)




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